


The Crown of Cybertron

by Gemma_Inkyboots, raisedbymoogles



Series: Alt-Vos Saga [1]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Abusive Family, Artists, Courage, Culture Shock, Destiny, Families of Choice, Goodies, Leaving Home, Multi, Polyamory, Psychopomps, Raising sparklings, Screw Destiny, Starscream makes poor choices, War-averted AU, We promise happy endings, even giant alien robots need support networks, healing psychological damage, leaving abusive relationships, more OCs than you can shake a stick at - Freeform, standing up for family, with hugs, yarn tribe represent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-28
Updated: 2016-03-27
Packaged: 2018-05-09 23:50:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 101,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5560681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gemma_Inkyboots/pseuds/Gemma_Inkyboots, https://archiveofourown.org/users/raisedbymoogles/pseuds/raisedbymoogles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is a chance, a very slim chance, that war could be averted on Cybertron. All it will take is a little courage, and a lot of luck. </p><p>For a collection of Vosian misfits, they're going to need all the luck they can get - fortunately, they also have some good friends helping them out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I can't believe we have finally got this utter monster of a fic to the point where we can post it. We've been working on this more or less since the final chapter of From The Ashes was posted, so - yikes, the better part of a year. This is essentially a fic dealing with how, if things had gone just a tiny bit differently, the war could have been averted in Renewed'verse - it's going to be a long one, and there will be both tie-in stories and one or two missing scenes of a more pervy nature that will be posted seperately.
> 
> There will be chapters here dealing with the Highest Family of Vos, who, if you've read the Redemption trilogy - or From The Ashes at least - you will know are not nice people. We'll warn in every chapter for what to expect, but if verbal and emotional abuse are triggery for you, then please note the warnings. Said family shows up in this first chapter - the head of the family makes threats as to a sparkling's future, prompting an anxiety-attack-like reaction from the parent. We do promise a happy ending, so please do keep that in mind too! 
> 
> There will be a playlist for this fic; for this chapter, it's Pat Benatar - Anxiety (Get Nervous). (If you're at all squicked by creepy doctors/dentists, find a lyrics-only video.)

Nightlight, once Grace of the Twilit Stars and great-grandspark of Vos’ Winglord Oversoaring, never forgot that his brother had once threatened to drop Nightlight’s newly-unfurled sparkling out of a window. Given that his brother was one of the heirs-presumptive of Vos and the Winglord Oversoaring’s current favorite, there had never been any point in trying to report it to anyone over Starscream’s head - long experience growing up in the Winglord’s eirie had taught him that if he couldn’t handle his siblings by himself, no-one else would do it for him. It was easier, _safer_ by far to withdraw with what he valued, his treasures as intact as he could keep them.

That one rule had never been in doubt, but this particular incident had only impressed on him the fact that, in this cruel, trammelled world, the biggest threat to his beloved little one was his own spark-family. Dash was always guarded - by his trinemates, by his bodyguard, or by the other members of the family they had found when Nightlight couldn’t be there himself, and he never, ever brought Dash to the Winglord’s eirie. Dash had never met any of his extended family-by-spark, and as far as Nightlight was concerned that wasn’t going to change - he had long since grown accustomed to the distant feeling that his wings were curling in at the tips, that he was living in a cage. Now at least the cage was a tower of his own, one that he could ward against the family that poked and pried and wouldn’t leave him be, even when he was supposedly exiled from their exalted presence. He was barred from the eirie proper, but if he tried to leave Highcrest Gate and the elite spires there permanently, he would have found himself chased back before he could drop three levels.

He had tried, once. It seemed the Family didn’t want any more sweet, happy groundframe sparklings marring their family tapestry.

Now however Ephemeris himself, the Winglord Oversoaring, had ordered his sparkling’s presence in the throne room. Nightlight hadn’t recharged at all the night before, despite his trinemates holding him tight and Dash cuddled up between their frames; his frame shook from wingtips to pedes as he hovered before the Winglord’s highest seat, the tips of his pedes bare inches from the delicately-patterned tiles and his optics fixed on the floor.

“Either you have deliberately disobeyed me, or it seems I was overly optimistic in thinking you could manage even this simple task. Which is it?”

Nightlight’s lips pressed tightly together, his vents running quick and shallow; Dash was safe at home, guarded by Nightlight’s trine. He wouldn’t, he _couldn’t_ bring his little one here, not at the cost of that bright spark being crushed.

“I apologise, Winglord,” he managed, voice barely more than a whisper. Ephemeris frowned at him, while Nightlight held his wings low and kept his expression hidden. He didn’t dare look up.

“It is time decisions were made about your...happy accident’s future,” Ephemeris said eventually, and Nightlight almost fell out of the air. _Decisions? What decisions? If they take Dash away from me-!_

“The Grand Academy in Farsight Spire is accepting applicants; if he’s reasonably intelligent, he would be a candidate for a spot there. Only a candidate, mind you - there is a long waiting list, and I can’t possibly hold a spot for him among so many deserving students.”

Nightlight had counted at least three veiled insults in that. He’d had to fight not to shudder openly - the Grand Academy was prestigious, true, but the students there were ordinarily much older; Dash would be ridiculed for being ‘behind’ by younglings older than him, kept away from his found-family and friends, forced into whatever mould the Winglord had in mind for him. _No-!_ Nightlight’s vocaliser activated before panic could silence him. “Why send him there at all, Highest? Surely a private tutor would be more appropriate - it’s not as though Dash will ever be considered among the potential heirs.”

“Sadly, this is true.” Ephemeris had shot Nightlight with an icy glare, the brief expression speaking volumes about how very much Nightlight was _not_ forgiven for getting himself sparked up by a nameless, flightless grounder like some common carrier. “But he is still kin, and I dislike wasting resources. With the right training he could be an acceptable servant for one of the heirs-presumptive, and at least be fit for _some_ purpose in the future.”

It had taken all of Nightlight’s hard-won self-discipline not to break and hide from the Winglord’s cruel, watchful optics. He stayed still, stayed low in the air before the Winglord’s seat and said all the right words, and allowed Ephemeris to plan out Dash’s bleak future for him without hearing a word through the ringing in his audials - he would have to replay the memory file again later, find some way of keeping his sparkling from his family’s clutches, and only then he’d be able to shake and cry at the words in safety.

Ephemeris had looked him over when he was finished, the double weight of cool blue optics making Nightlight shiver without looking up. He knew that Ephemeris’ twin Eccentricity was at the Winglord’s shoulder - the High Lord only ever left his own tower suite when something he found interesting was happening, and given that Eccentricity’s tastes ran even sharper than Ephemeris’...

“Dismissed,” Ephemeris said finally, and Nightlight stammered his thanks for pre-emptively ruining Dash’s life before bowing and fleeing the room. Harsh voices called after him as he bolted, some more familiar and frightening than others, and he kicked into the air - his optics blurred with tears and a miserable future, he made for the nearest window out onto open air and dropped like a stone before anyone could follow him.

Their little tower was humble indeed - certainly compared to the glory of the Winglord’s eirie, perched high above the rest of the city and glimmering like a star come to rest - but it had windows and bolts that he could lock against his spark-relatives. After Starscream had invaded Nightlight’s own quarters, the Exile’s Tower had become that rare thing in Vos - a flier’s living space that wasn’t permanently open to the sky. Nightlight still felt himself to blame for the restrictions this put on his Dashlet, for all the little one wasn’t aware of them himself, for all that he had finally brought himself to see that there was nothing he could do, nothing he could say, to make his spark-relatives change their attitudes...

Luckily, the family that he’d found - the trine he’d been blessed with, long after he’d thought himself utterly unlovable - stood behind him, and admitted to feeling easier themselves being able to shut out the rest of Vos even for a little while. It had been a revelation to find out that he wasn’t alone, that he wasn’t the only one in Vos who felt out of place in one way or another - who felt the cross-currents of the city pulling them down instead of lifting them up. He had a family of his own, now, and Dashlet had cousins-by-trine to play and learn with, and Nightlight would not give them up. Not for anything. Not even if the Winglord Oversoaring offered him back his station and everything he had been shut out from - Nightlight had learned that he could live outside of the eirie, that he could live without them, and now he would never forget it.

Unfortunately, it seemed as though his spark-relatives wouldn’t forget about him as easily as he wished they would. For all that he had been removed from the succession, for all that the heirs-presumptive sneered every rare time he was summoned back to the eirie, for all the time he’d spent terrified as a youngling that there was something _wrong_ with him that made his spark-relations turn on him...for all he had been shown that he was the miswire of the clutch, the eirie refused to let him go.

Night dropped fast and far, skimming the edge of the eirie walls and darting in underneath an outcrop. His pale plating came close to matching the finish coating Highcrest Gate’s outer walls - at least in terms of colouring he came close to fitting in - and the loud catcalls and jeers of what sounded like his younger sibling-trine and a cousin or two shot past with them none the wiser. Still, he stayed quiet and held on to the underside of the spire for a count of a hundred, nestled in quietly amongst privacy baffles and heat sinks to listen hard for any sounds of returning shouts. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d been caught out by leaving his bolt-holes too early - at least this time it wasn’t his closest siblings chasing him. Starscream was too fast to dodge for long, and Sunfire was a war-Seeker sparked.

It also gave him time to manage his vents and force his systems to reset, holding off the crash of a panic attack for just a little longer. He had to get home and make sure Dash was all right.

Nightlight might not have had access to the Vosian Emirates’ heirs’ accounts anymore, but he’d put his unspent allowance off to one side when he _had_ been part of the eirie; what he’d saved was enough for them to be comfortable in their own little tower, even without renting out most of the extra space to their friends. That reliable bit of income meant that Dash had a growing collection of well-loved games to keep him and his agemates entertained. It also meant that he and his visiting playmate were thoroughly distracted by the time Nightlight made it home, tired and shaky on his thrusters, wobbling up to the tower gate and tapping in the extended code required just to get into the first entryway.

“Carrier!” Dash cried when Nightlight appeared in the door - he jumped up and ran to him, leaping into the air to hug his carrier tight. Nightlight’s arms wrapped around him tight, breathing in the smell of polish and growing systems and sparkling-fuel, and for that he would face his terrible family a thousand times over.

“Hello, sweetest,” he smiled, snuggling Dash close and nuzzling his helm. “Hello, Haze. Are you having fun?”

“Uh huh.” Dash wiggled in his arms, still young enough to want to be carried about, and held his arms out to Haze. The older sparkling was more than happy to trot over for a hug of hir own, and Nightlight smiled at them both - and at their assigned guard, with a slightly more distant nod of thanks. Safeguard was gradually becoming a friend, but Night was still too raw from his audience with the Winglord to react well to Ephemeris’ sigils on someone else’s armour.

“Well, I’m glad. I had a little time free-” Not quite; he’d needed time to let the wind blow away enough of the hurt clouding his spark and processor before he headed home to his little one. “So I picked us up some goodies. Haze, would you like to stay?”

Judging from both little ones’ delighted squeals, they would both like it very much; Nightlight laughed and carried them both off to the sofa for treats. Now, watching Dash chatter brightly with Haze as he got good and sticky on his favorite goodies, Nightlight swore it again - his Dash would choose his own future. He had an uncomfortable feeling that he knew just who Ephemeris had in mind for Dash to serve, too, for all that he’d never be able to prove it.

_How long can I evade them? How long can I keep Dash safe from them?_

Well, he had all night to worry and fret over that question, as per usual after a visit up-spire. Right now was for Dash, and for Haze until hir own carrier summoned hir back home. Nightlight threw himself into the role of Carrier, fussing over his little one before settling in to be enthusiastic about a game both Haze and Dash could play with preternatural dexterity and Nightlight was utterly flummoxed by.

*

The eirie had mandated that Nightlight have a guard in exile. Nightlight hadn’t been thrilled, but for all that he was still a little wary of his assigned guard, Safeguard had turned out to be a welcome pair of extra hands when Dash had been tiny and exhausting. There was also the fact that Safeguard had actually been appointed by Fly-by-Night, Nightlight’s friend and Haze’s carrier. Some measure of trust had been called for, and Nightlight was glad he’d extended it - the alternative had been a nightmare of potential sparkling-nappings and spying and Nightlight likely would never have recharged again.

Safeguard was on hand to usher Skydance and Thundersong in when they came home, directing them into the small entertaining-room Nightlight had claimed for himself and Dash with a slight bow for them both. “Oh, Safeguard,” Nightlight called when Safeguard started to withdraw. “Fly-by-Night’s asked Haze to come home. Do you mind shadowing hir there?”

“It’s only two layers down, I don’t need an escort,” Haze argued. “No offense, Safeguard.”

Nightlight and Safeguard found themselves exchanging eloquent, and in Night’s case openly worried, looks. “Please, Haze? Just to indulge a nervous carrier,” Nightlight asked, one hand stroking over Haze’s helm. Haze pursed hir lips unhappily, but agreed and went to hug Dash one more time.

Safeguard lingered only long enough to transfer eir attention to Skydance and Thundersong while Haze said goodbye to Dash. Ei was never _off duty_ , not really, but with Nightlight’s trinemates here, ei had the luxury of relaxing a bit, enough to leave the tower briefly to make sure eir employer’s youngling returned home safely - and promptly. 

“I’ll be back soon, Grace,” ei said, and followed Haze out.

“I do wish ei’d stop calling me that,” Nightlight sighed as the door closed. “I was very thoroughly stripped of rank and I never liked it all that much anyway.”

“Yeah, well, maybe ei just thinks you’re all authoritative and stuff.” Sky beamed at him, then hopped over to give Nightlight an enthusiastic hug with Thundersong close behind. Nightlight huffed and tutted at him, then leaned into the hug as though his trinemates were all that was keeping him upright. It came close, today.

“Song an’ Dance!” Dashlet cried, charging headlong back into the room and throwing himself into the three-way embrace. “Songan’DanceSongan’DanceSongan’Dance!”

Skydance whooped and swept him up between the three, enthusiastically nuzzling Dashlet’s cheeks and squidging him tight. “Heeey, it’s our best bitlet! Didja save me some goodies, Dashbit?”

“Uh huh! Didja bring me musics?”

“We-ell,” Skydance hedged, then burst into a ringing laugh as Dashlet wiggled. “Not this time, kiddo, I couldn’t get in. It’s ‘Song you wanna be aiming those hopeful optics at, not me.”

Thundersong only chuckled as Dash instantly squirmed around in Skydance’s arms, pressing his little cheek to ‘Dance’s and both of them giving him the same bright, hopeful smile. “How could I say no to those faces? And I did one better than just an audio track, as a matter of fact. What about sitting and watching a recording of the whole spire display with some fuel?”

“That sounds wonderful,” Nightlight said warmly; concerts were hit and miss for him to try and attend for all kinds of reasons, though Dashlet at least was used to watching recordings and wheedling music tracks from Nightlight’s trinemates. Once again he was faced with the painful reminder that something had to change, if only to give his little one the chance to move freely through the city that was supposed to be his home. “What do we say, Dashlet? Thank you, ‘Song. That would be lovely.”

“Thank you,” Dash echoed, and was rewarded with a squidge from Skydance and a proud, fond helmstroke from Nightlight.

The four of them settled in on the long lounger to watch Thundersong’s recording, Dash colonizing Skydance’s lap with his small container of sweetened sparkling-fuel. Nightlight allowed himself to rest on Thundersong’s shoulder and just - not think. About anything. He’d have to deal with the threats and insults against his baby eventually, but Solus, he was tired and Thundersong was solid and reassuring. It would keep until the oncycle.

“Hey, Dashbit, you got a spill there. C’mere…”

Nightlight roused. “I’ll get it,” he said, but Skydance was already flapping at him to sit back down.

“I got it, I know where the cloths are.” Skydance hiked Dash up in one arm. “You want me to help you, Dash, or do you want to do it yourself?”

“Do it myself!” Dash answered proudly, and Nightlight smiled as he sank back down against Thundersong. Skydance twirled Dashlet towards the door, the littlebit shrieking with delight.

“How are you doing?” Thundersong rumbled softly, his vocaliser close by Nightlight’s audials as Dash and Skydance chattered away and out of the room. His arm tightened gently around Nightlight’s back, hand resting on his hip, and Nightlight sighed through every vent he had and snuggled closer. 

“Tired, mostly. I’m so glad we’re all together...”

“So are we. I don’t want to know what we’d have done without you, you know. -No, don’t, I mean it. We’d either be homeless or out of a job - they wouldn’t even let Sky into the hall today.”

Nightlight jerked, shocked and seeking out Thundersong’s optics. “Why on Cybertron would- He’s one of the artists!”

“And the eirie sponsors the musical events,” Thundersong said heavily. Nightlight’s internals ran cold. “I’m not trying to make things worse, starshine, but I’m starting to think maybe we ought to think about moving sooner rather than later.”

Just then Skydance became audible again, his and Dashlet’s voices raised and singing something nonsensical as they came back to the central room, and Nightlight masked his fear and guilt for long enough that they both settled back in comfortably to restart the recording. Thundersong said nothing, only encouraged Nightlight to snuggle in at his side again, but though Nightlight’s optics lingered on the screen his processor was miles away.

//I think you’re right,// he commed eventually, quiet and resigned.

*

Dash’s antigravs were still only set at twenty percent of full power, but he practiced with them every day, every chance he could get. It wasn’t easy to practice indoors - and after the last time, practicing anywhere more enclosed than the large central playroom was Strictly Forbidden - but Carrier was wise enough not to expect Dash to do all his flying in the tower. There were other places where a little one could hone their skills.

“We’re with the party in section two,” Nightlight told the attendant, laughing a little as Dash wiggled eagerly in his arms. “Our names are on the list.”

The attendant faltered in indecision when Nightlight pinged eir his credentials. “Oh - yes, Gr- ...um. This way, please.”

Nightlight sighed. No one knew how to properly address an exiled member of the Winglord’s eirie, and all of them feared punishment for getting it wrong. He was ready to let it go, but Dash, responding to the attendant’s discomfiture, piped up. “‘Lo, I’m Dash.”

That actually got a smile, crinkling up the attendant’s optics. “Hello. It’s lovely to meet you, Dash.”

Sometimes his little one was wiser by far than the adult mechs around him. Nightlight glowed and squidged him gently close, then turned a hopeful variant of that smile on the attendant. “And I’m Nightlight. Just Nightlight, for clarity’s sake.”

The attendant hesitated, then tentatively smiled back. “I’ll make a note. And, um, thank you for visiting the playpark.” 

Ei waved them through and into the gate marked as leading to section two, styled like an airlock with enough room for a small party of Vosians to pass through it at once. The first door slid and locked behind them, and Dash wiggled impatiently as he willed the second to hurry up, Nightlight mildly wandering his way over to it and privately very amused. The instant the door began to iris open, Dash let out a crow of triumph and bounced half out of Nightlight’s arms. 

“Carrier! Carrier Carrier c’moooon!”

Nightlight laughed, nuzzled his sparkling’s cheek as Dash squirmed, and stepped through the gate as soon as it opened wide enough; the moment he passed the threshold, the anti-gravity field engaged and Nightlight’s pedes gently lifted from the floor.

“Now remember, Dashlet,” he said warningly, Dash squirming around again to look pleadingly up into his face. “Be careful of other people, and don’t forget to practise with your air brakes.”

Wiggle wiggle wiggle. “...promise, carrier.”

Nightlight nuzzled Dash’s cheek, earning himself a giggle. “There’s my best bitlet. Go on now, go have fun.” Nightlight opened his arms, and with a delighted squeal Dashlet lit up his bitty systems and pfutted across the clear antigrav dome to the other sparklings bumbling about in the air.

Most of them were already known to Dash - Haze was there, and so were Bubblebomb’s little ones, Snuggles and Zippy, the latter blurring about even faster than Dash could keep up despite Dash being a shade older; Terra, Moonburst and Sunspot, the oldest sparklings there, tossing a ball back and forth; and Dawn and Dusk, spark of Shimmersea, who’d been one of Nightlight’s first friends out of the eirie.

“Nightlight, you’re just in time,” Shimmersea beamed as Nightlight approached, opening her arms for a hug which Nightlight gratefully gave her. “Bubblebomb’s brought those globes-in-suspension goodies from Hexwrench’s flyby. We wanted to see what they do in antigravity.”

“Ah, well, if it’s for science,” Nightlight laughed, and Bubblebomb eagerly brought out the box of physics-defying goodies. “Speaking of, I think it’s about time I start looking for a private tutor for Dash. Have you heard any good things about anyone?”

“A few names come to mind,” Shimmersea admitted. “But isn’t Dashlet still a bit young?”

Nightlight glanced away uncomfortably. “Perhaps, but I’d at least like to have an idea of what’s available by the time I make a decision.”

Shimmersea’s optics flickered over his averted face, the stiff set of his wings, and hummed softly without committing anything either way. “I suppose it’s better to start looking early, so you’re sure of whoever you choose. I can put some names down on a flimsy, if you’d like?”

Unspoken between them both was the knowledge that Nightlight’s family would find it harder to appropriate a scrap of thin plastic than they could copy the contents of a datapad, and Nightlight’s optics followed Dashlet about the dome as the sparklings played. “That would be very kind of you,” he said, then set about hooking a pede into one of the cable loops that kept the adults tethered so he didn’t have to look up. Just in case Dash looked over and saw his expression.

“Goodies!” Bubblebomb cried swiftly, and opened the box of treats with enough bounce to let the rounds of liquid sweetness rise gracefully into the air between them. Nightlight reached out to one; it bobbed in his palm, a nearly-clear shell encapsulating liquid fuel and a bead of chewy solidified energon. He couldn’t help but smile. “Well, fellow scientists, what are our observations?”

“Goodies are indeed affected by antigravity!” Bubblebomb announced.

“The liquid appears to be taking on amorphous shapes,” Shimmersea put in. “But that is the extent of my observation. Further study is required.” She plucked a treat out of the air and ate it; laughing, Bubblebomb and Nightlight followed suit.

...and at that point one of the little ones spotted the treats, which led to the three grown Vosians being swarmed with hopeful sparklings. Laughing, Shimmersea thought quickly and scooped some of the goodies up in both hands, then gently tossed them in a slowly spinning fan of treat-droplets. “Practise time, little ones!” she announced in her clear voice. “You may each have a goodie, but you can’t use your hands!”

A chorus of squeals was her reply, Terra and her siblings darting over now they were sure they were invited, and Nightlight and Bubblebomb quickly copied Shimmersea to send more of the goodies spiralling out into the antigrav dome. They kept enough back to try one more each themselves, letting the thin shells burst and flood their sensors with thick, sticky sweetness as the dome was filled with the sparklings’ laughter.

Typically, the playful moment didn’t last long. Nightlight was still chuckling at something that Bubblebomb had said, wings moving gently as he drifted against the tether around his ankle, when Shimmersea’s field snapped with sudden alarm like a static shock. He instinctively darted a glance over to the little ones, but Dash was busily spinning in circles with Zippy and Sunspot; the other sparklings were playing happily around the dome and there was nothing he could see to prompt-

“Well, isn’t this _nice._ ”

Ice flooded Nightlight’s lines, every bit of plating on his frame clamping down tight as he turned. Starscream made the most of his uncharacteristically silent entrance, wings flared wide to display his steelsilk wrap to its fullest effect, an amiable sort of smirk taking the place of a smile; his optics glittered with malicious pleasure at Nightlight’s dismay. Static claimed Nightlight’s vocaliser - his gaze flickered back to Dash, his first and only thought being to snatch up his little one and run, but Starscream was between him and the airlock and the other flier had always been the fastest of them - and he knew that Nightlight knew it, his smirk growing sharper.

Shimmersea, bless the winds under her wings forever, barely even twitched after the first warning shock of surprise. “Your Grace,” she said mildly, the only one of the three who was both able to manage words and not silenced by protocol. “What a surprise.”

“Sparkbearer Shimmersea, as I live,” Starscream answered, fluttering in entirely feigned surprise that set his draped wrap dancing. “I haven’t seen you since you bore an heir for Fleetwind. What are you doing all the way down here?”

“Enjoying my sabbatical,” Shimmersea answered dryly. “And what brings _you_ down here, if I may ask? Developing a sudden interest in sparklings?”

Starscream glanced around himself. The little ones had knotted up, Dash clinging to the arm of Sunspot, who was both bigger and older than him and the stronger in antigravs - though none of them were a match for Starscream if he were to lunge at them. Nightlight silently worked his ankle loose in the tether, optics on his brother. Superior flier or no, if Starscream so much as twitched toward any of the sparklings-!

“I have no need of an heir until my claim to the Winglord title is secured,” Starscream scoffed. “I do, however, have a passing interest in my kin.” He turned, completely ignoring Nightlight’s rising jet-turbine whine of warning. “Dash, isn’t it?” he cooed. “Wouldn’t you like to come and see me?”

Dash stared at him from behind Sunspot’s shoulder. “No.”

“Oh, no?” Starscream drew a package from subspace, wiggled it enticingly. “Not even for goodies?”

“ _No,_ ” Dash answered, gathering his courage. “You’re mean. I don’t like you.”

This time the heir-presumptive actually lost his composure enough to sputter. Nightlight was so proud of Dash that he could _burst,_ optics shining up at his courageous bitlet. _//My brave sweetspark,//_ he sent over comms, and smiled when Dash’s optics darted to him. _//Can you be brave again and come to me?//_

Dash landed in his arms with a thump before Starscream had finished spluttering, clinging tight to his carrier’s plating and glowering mistrustfully over one spoiler-point. Nightlight turned with the force of Dash’s charge, not so coincidentally putting his own frame between Starscream and his sparkling; Shimmersea, equally coincidentally, drifted forward a little in the wake of their movement, Bubblebomb humming something spirited and off-key as she bobbled between Shimmersea and Nightlight and held out her arms to her own little ones.

“C’mere, tinies! TerraSpotBurst, you too - hug time!”

The incoming rush of miniature Vosians was enough to make Starscream have to correct in midair, the sparklings all arrowing in towards the friendly adults whether they had been called or not - Shimmersea’s two pfutted rapidly into her arms in the wake of the others, not wanting to be left behind. Multiple pairs of tiny, wary optics flickered at the heir-presumptive, burrowing in close to their creators’ plating.

Starscream was left without support, the flaming wreckage of his plan burning merrily in the silence that followed. “That - you -” he sputtered. “Slag it all, sparklings aren’t supposed to DO that!”

“Ours are _good_ sparklings,” Bubblebomb cooed, to the little ones in her arms rather than to Starscream directly. “They know not to take goodies from strangers.”

“Yeah,” Terra muttered, “and he’s _really_ strange.”

Giggles rippled through the sparklings, and Nightlight’s arms tightened around Dash as Starscream’s optics flashed dangerously. “I’ll show you how ‘strange’ I can be,” he snarled. “I’ll make you sorry you were ever sparked, you little-”

 _“Starscream!”_ Nightlight yelped, covering the rather filthy name that came out of Starscream’s mouth with his own voice.

Dash screwed up his face. “When I act like that, I have to sit on the naughty step.”

Starscream moved toward them and Nightlight turned further, putting himself between his bitlet and his brother - but Shimmersea was the one who moved to shield them both, holding Starscream’s optics steadily as her twins hid behind her legs. Nightlight couldn’t see the look Shimmersea was giving him, but somehow it was enough to make Starscream stand down.

“You’re lucky you have value to the eirie still,” Starscream hissed at her, harsh with poison, and put the back of his hand to her face twice: a gesture rather than a strike, but one that rang with Starscream’s contempt.

Shimmersea quietly gripped her twins’ shoulders. “You and I value very different things, Grace.”

“Clearly,” he sneered; the sneer turned to something closer to a snarl as Dawn and Dusk latched more tightly onto their carrier’s legs, wary optics watching him silently. They didn’t flinch at his expression, only clung closer to Shimmersea’s glimmering plating, little pedes resting atop hers just in case Carrier needed to jet away in a hurry. It was something as natural as being carried to the youngest of sparklings, and it kindled a fire of spite and bitter envy in Starscream’s optics. 

Starscream increased the strength of his antigravs, lifting himself higher over the heads of the adult Vosians and their disapproving little passengers, his gaze lancing past Shimmersea and Bubblebomb to his clutchmate. “I hope you’re satisfied,” he accused, his voice a laser to the sensors; Nightlight hunched his shoulders and curled in around Dash. He wouldn’t look. “I hope this is all playing out _just_ the way you wanted, since you only have yourself to blame.”

With a flourish of the fabric draped around his shoulders - a scandalously purple wrap with glyphs and decorations woven into the links, one all too close to the design of the cloak worn by the heir for eir confirmation ceremony, which was surely fomenting gossip and wild speculation all through Vos already - Starscream turned his back on them and swept to the airlock. The fact that he had to wait for the doors to cycle open to follow through on his grand exit did nothing for his temper, and the wait shredded what remained of Nightlight’s nerves. He offlined his optics, bent almost in half to wrap around his sparkling, and felt his vents spin up with nigh-hysterical speed as the airlock whooshed closed and his frame reacted at last to being trapped in a confined space with a predator.

“That - that - _horrible_ -” Bubblebomb could no longer hold her vocalizer, clinging to all five of her charges as she bristled. “Solus help Vos if he ever becomes Winglord!”

“Please don’t even _say_ that,” Nightlight whispered harshly, and Bubblebomb’s hand flew to her mouth.

“Oh - Nightlight, spark-of-mine, I’m sorry...” Bubblebomb gathered Nightlight close, little ones latching onto both adults to both seek and give comfort, and Shimmersea joined the huddle from the other side. They were floating uncontrolled in the antigrav dome; nobody noticed or cared. “You take as long as you need, all right? We’re not going anywhere.”

“You sh-should.” The words came out unbidden, twisting painfully in Nightlight’s vocalizer. “Skydance is already being denied entry to concert halls because of me. They’ll destroy your lives just to get at me-” A staticky sob stole his voice; Shimmersea clicked soothingly and stroked his helm as though he were a sparkling himself.

“For you, we’d face down the whole eirie - you’re worth it, dear. Never think Starscream’s right. His bad behavior isn’t your fault.”

Nightlight let out another sob; against his cockpit, Dash started to tear up.

“‘S not _fair,_ ” he cried, muffled amidst the frames surrounding him; Nightlight crumpled under old guilt, but Dashlet wasn’t finished. “He’s all horrible and everybody does what he says, it’s not _fair!_ I don’t want cousins anymore, why won’t they go away?”

“I’m sorry,” Nightlight choked out, Dash squirming and fighting his way up from the press of bodies to bury his face in his carrier’s neck. “I’m sorry, sweetest, I’m sorry I can’t make it better...”

“Aftscream go eat gearbugs!” came his sparkling’s furious wail, and Nightlight’s vocaliser misfired completely. Bubblebomb was surprised into a snorting hoot of laughter, clapping her hand over her mouth.

“Aftscream!” she squeaked, and Shimmersea only fought off a fit of laughter through long vorns of keeping her composure in noble eiries.

“He is a frightening, dangerous mech, and it is not sensible to call him names where anyone who isn’t us can hear,” she said firmly, before anything could catch hold in little processors. “Especially since it could hurt Dash and Nightlight. Now, I think it’s time we went home for cuddles - Bubbles, could you take your little ones and get the door?”

“Sure thing,” the other flier warbled, her vocaliser rising and falling in uncontrolled bursts, and hugged Nightlight one last time before heading to the airlock.

*

Dash and the other little ones were finally convinced to take a nap after they’d returned to Nightlight’s tower and Dash had cried himself out. They piled on Nightlight’s berth, snuffling as Nightlight tucked his own thermal wrap around them with hands that trembled only slightly. When he was done, Shimmersea took his hands and led him gently out to where Bubblebomb was setting oil out.

The drink calmed Nightlight’s nerves somewhat. “Thank you,” he said, then, “Thundersong is right. I can’t stay in Vos much longer.”

Bubblebomb couldn’t help a worried look. “Would you still be able to run your tower if you went somewhere else? You’d still be getting the rent from us, right?”

Nightlight shook his head sadly. “Anything I leave behind, I can’t assume I’ll get to keep. I suppose I could try to be a counselor, wherever I end up. I’ve had the training, I just wasn’t allowed to do anything with it.” Bubblebomb didn’t look any less worried, and guilty along with it. “I’m sorry,” Nightlight told her. “I know my leaving could mean everyone else loses their home here, or their rents increased when the eirie repossesses it at the very least.” He folded his hands, twisting them together. “I just don’t see any other way out.”

Bubblebomb cycled hard and gave Nightlight a brave smile. “I won’t ask you to sacrifice your freedom. Or Dashlet’s. We’ll all be all right, don’t worry - I just wish we could all come with you.”

Nightlight returned the smile with a small, resigned one of his own, optics pale and tired. “Sometimes I think that might be safest for all of us.” He turned the cube of oil around in his hands, optics looking through it to somewhere far away. “It’s - it’s probably safer for everyone if I don’t tell you where I think we can go, but if there’s a way for you to follow us...” He hesitated, everything in him shaken and unsteady, but Shimmersea leaned forward and pressed a finger under his chin to make him meet her gaze.

“Vos will not be safe for anyone for long,” she said firmly, Bubblebomb beginning to nod along from her own chair. “We can all see where the city is heading, especially now, and anyone who does not fit or support the Winglord’s ideal will suffer. You won’t have seen as much of it, in the eirie or here-” Nightlight’s field flushed with embarrassment and old, clinging shame, but Shimmersea pushed it away with her own determination and a lack of blame. “But as far as I can tell, Vos has been on a long, slow turn for vorns. Not just the nobles, though I’ve worked for enough in the past who followed along - we never used to be so isolated. So - static. Once Vosians flew the skies of all of Cybertron, not just our own territory; the Winglord’s eirie never used to be so shuttered.”

“And you think - you think it’s going to get worse?” Nightlight’s voice was less than steady, but Shimmersea’s position as a formally-acknowledged Sparkbearer meant she could move easily between the levels of Vos from the highest eirie on down; she had been circulating amongst all walks of life for far longer than Nightlight had been ensparked and kept enclosed in the Winglord’s eirie.

 _Enclosed was right. I had_ no idea _what the rest of Vos was really like._

Shimmersea nodded, her gold optics pale and serious. “Vos has been withdrawing from the rest of Cybertron for a long time,” she said softly. “Ephemeris began it, and everything since has only wound us up tighter in a net of our own making. The Winglord may think pulling away from everything else in the world makes us stronger, but wilful blindness does not find us more sources of fuel. We cannot trade within the city for materials we do not have, and when whispers of shortages rise and growing numbers of artists whose patrons pull away from them fall into deprivation...”

Her voice trailed away meaningfully, and both of the other full-frames shivered. The first people Thundersong and Skydance had introduced Nightlight to had been their circle of artist and artisan friends; the first friends Nightlight had ever made for himself had been from the lower levels. Nightlight may have been charging them rent to both hold on to what he’d saved of his own credits and to make better use of the Exile’s Tower - far too big for himself and Dashlet alone, far too lonely for a happy little bitlet without voices and games and people to talk to that he trusted - but it was petty credits compared to the rest of Vos. Bubblebomb shifted unhappily; looking after two bitlets alone and still making enough art to cover both rent and fuel without a patron would have been impossible by now if she hadn’t moved into the tower, and she wasn’t the only one.

Nightlight couldn’t give her a home indefinitely, as much as he wanted to, just as he couldn’t protect Dash from the eirie forever. He still felt terrible for having to choose.

“I’ll set up what I can,” he said, and tried not to let his voice wobble. “Maybe I can leave behind a fund for everyone to buy the Exile’s Tower outright, or find some other decent place to live. Or - or travel somewhere else. Whatever you all decide is best. I won’t leave you all with no protection.”

“Nightlight…” Shimmersea covered his hand with her own. “You _can’t_ protect us on your own, if the eirie turns its sights on any of us.” Nightlight stiffened miserably. “So don’t take that onto yourself. The fund is a good idea.” She nodded as Bubblebomb took Nightlight’s other hand. “But make it one we can all contribute to. And we need to tell everyone what happened today and discuss what to do.”

Bubblebomb was nodding. “And in the meantime, we keep a closer watch on the lils and make sure they know not to take goodies from strangers.”

“What was Starscream even trying to do?” Nightlight complained. “I just don’t understand him. Did he really think Dashlet would like him better than me if he was bribed with goodies?” For a moment the image of exactly that made itself known in his mind, and Nightlight shuddered.

“You’re the one who told me that everything good you had, Starscream wanted to take away or destroy,” Shimmersea hedged. “And that Dash is the best thing that ever happened to you.” Nightlight’s hands tightened around theirs.

“Fortunately,” Bubblebomb mused, “Starscream doesn’t appear to have any idea how sparklings work.”

“Thankfully, yes.”

It took more time than Nightlight cared to admit to, but eventually his systems slowed from their tense race and he managed to relax the death-grip on his friends’ hands. Bubblebomb gave him an encouraging grin and squeezed before she let go.

“Well, if nothing else, the tinies are getting their naps in just when we needed them to. How about we call a family meeting tonight and go from there?”

Nightlight nodded gratefully, and Shimmersea smiled. “That is an excellent plan, Bubbles. In the meantime... Actually, I might just check in on the little ones one more time. Why don’t we all go? It might help.”

“Sounds like a good plan to me,” Nightlight sighed, and Shimmersea patted his gauntlet before standing and drawing him up after her. All three soft-footed their way from Night’s comfortable little parlour to his berthroom, sliding the door open just far enough for them to peer inside.

//Awwww,// Bubblebomb murmured over comms to them both. //Isn’t that just the cutest thing?//

The Exile’s Tower had been bare and cold when Nightlight had arrived, the shutters locked tight and the air stale - for all it was still called a tower, it had long since been left behind by the more lofty extensions added onto the eirie, so that it stuck out below the lowest point of what was still considered the Winglord’s private levels of Highcrest Gate. No-one lived there, and it had been millennia since even visiting diplomats were housed there - parts of it had been used for storage, but in the Winglord’s fury he had ordered anything left behind in the Tower be removed before Nightlight was exiled there. It was intended as a punishment, but Nightlight’s family hadn’t considered that their resident odd duck would have few enough diversions to spend his credits on, outside of teaching units and data pads he could hide from his siblings. Nightlight had had a solid nest egg hidden away where his family couldn’t touch it, thanks to his lower-level friends playing courier for his credit chips, and the lack of amenities hadn’t hurt him or his sparkling outside of the first few days. His trine had helped to wash down the walls and sluice off the dust from the floors, and between ‘Dance and the other tactile artists, the walls were soon covered with artwork and Nightlight needed more shelves.

It had also meant, for the first time in his life, that he was able to arrange his quarters any way he liked - the eirie only changed when the Winglord decreed it, and the furnishings there were antique. The thought of so many choices had paralysed him at first, especially when he was dealing with a newly-unfurled and tiny Dashlet at the time, but one thing he had taken entirely for granted was a berth big enough to fit three fully-grown Vosians easily. The Winglord’s eirie didn’t exactly do _standard_ on anything, but a large and comfortable berth fit for a trine was the norm there, and had been for the entirety of Ephemeris’ reign - four generations of Vosians used to lavishly large berths when they were old enough not to recharge in sparkling hammocks. They also made a spectacularly well-suited napping spot for a heap of little ones.

Dash was clinging to one of Nightlight’s cushions, his little nose buried in the steelinen fabric. As Nightlight watched, he took a handful of the cushion and cuddled it close, vents relaxing into a soft sigh. Nightlight thought his spark would burst from love, the fiercest emotion he had ever experienced.

 _I will keep you safe, little one,_ he swore. _I will keep you safe until the day you are able to keep yourself safe. You’ll be happy and proud and surrounded by people who love you, and the eirie won’t be able to get so much as a handful of your shadow!_

He had no idea how he was going to accomplish such a thing when he was still leashed to his family’s every whim, but watching his little one recharge, the doubts could not find a foothold.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which an alarming announcement is made, and Nightlight makes a decision that changes his family's lives forever. Amongst other things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: None today, aside from having to say goodbye.

Normally the vidscreens set everywhere in the spires were silent: they displayed ads, weather and news, a constant unobtrusive presence through the cycles. When the speakers crackled to life, everybody - including Nightlight, arms full of his shopping as he tried to sort it into his subspace - stopped in midair to listen.

“Citizens of Vos! Your Winglord Oversoaring speaks.” Ephemeris sat tall and gleaming on the highest seat in every screen, the royal red and blue of his paint reflected onto the surrounding walls. Behind him his twin, Eccentricity, lay a hand on his shoulder in silent support. No one could say the twins hadn’t aged well, but beneath the dramatic boom of his voice over the speakers Nightlight thought he could detect a hint of creaking, the warning of an aged shuttle about to fall apart. “This is a day long in coming, but you will rejoice to hear that I have at last chosen my heir.”

A chill coiled through Nightlight’s internals. He shifted his grip on the cubes of additives in his arms, sensors flickering nervously about himself - all at once the busy market district felt exposed, laid open, like a target had softly attached itself to his back. No-one was even looking his way, though a buzz of voices rasped at the edge of his hearing. 

Nightlight couldn’t make sense of any of it. His vents sped up, a tremble starting through his frame; the looming sensation that he knew what was coming rose up from under him like a gravity well spawning.

Ephemeris raised his right hand, commanding both his citizens’ attention and someone else offscreen; at his left wing, Eccentricity’s optics glinted. “Grace Starscream of the Turbulent Heights, come forward!”

Starscream strode into view on the vidscreens as the camera panned back, a sway in his hips and triumph lighting his optics; he stood before Ephemeris’ high seat, polished and waxed until he gleamed, his colours close enough to the ancient Winglord’s that the buzzing whispers of Vos rose in volume. Starscream had never been afraid of Ephemeris, not the way Nightlight had been - even when Starscream had hated the Winglord, there was a grudging, calculating respect there that neither Nightlight nor their trinesib had ever felt for either Ephemeris or Eccentricity. Nightlight barely had processor space free to think of Sunfire now, not when everything in him seemed to lock up until he could only watch in numb horror.

“As the Winglord commands,” Starscream was saying, his helm respectfully tilted down so that barely a glitter of scarlet optics could be seen. If anything, Ephemeris seemed amused.

“Stand before me,” he ordered, and with a theatrical flourish Starscream straightened and took his place on the uppermost step of Ephemeris’ dais, the launching point where the Winglord would lift off to reach the highest seat. “Citizens of Vos, I present my heir and your future Winglord - Lord Starscream of Vos Oversoaring!”

Additives and sweeteners painted the air as Nightlight’s crushing grip cracked their canisters. They sifted down to dust the pathways far below, their cubes dissipating into nothing, as Nightlight fled.

Skydance and Thundersong were on his comm before he even reached home. _//I know!//_ he burst out at them both, then sucked in a deep vent before he could embarrass himself further. //I know. Meet me at home. Please - I need your help.//

//Already in the air,// Thundersong assured him, and Nightlight wrapped up every thankful glyph he knew and sent it to them both, a spill of wordless gratitude.

He touched down. His Tower’s landing platform was eerily quiet, a strange _otherworld_ where the roar of millions of Vosian voices that filled the rest of the city couldn’t quite reach. An illusion, he knew: he and his little cobbled-together family were not safe here any longer, if they ever had been.

 _Family._ His step faltered. _This is my family - the people I love and trust, the people who caught me when I had no safe place left to fall._

And now, he realized as his little one emerged onto the landing platform and ran across it to launch himself into his Carrier’s arms, Nightlight was about to abandon them all.

“Carrier! Carriercarrier Radiant’s here she’s gonna have a sparkling!”

“Is she?” Nightlight’s hands moved to support his little one as Dashlet swarmed up into his arms, trying to smile past the despair threatening to sweep him away. “That’s wonderful, sweetest. Is anyone else home?”

Young his sparkling may be, but Dashlet was no fool - oversensitive, perhaps, to other people’s emotions, and that was one more thing that Nightlight blamed himself for. Dash squinted up at his carrier’s face, his field flickering worriedly before he answered. “Uh huh. ‘Most everybody. Resonance is here too, he came with Radiant, Haze is here but Fly-by had to go.”

“I’m not surprised,” Nightlight murmured, then gave Dash a reassuring smile when his sparkling’s optics squinched up again. “Something - something very important just happened, Dashlet, and things are going to have to change. It’s going to be a little bit topsy-turvy for a while, I’m afraid.”

“Oh.” Dashlet thought this over as Nightlight carried him inside, tiny fingers picking absently at his carrier’s canopy. He hadn’t been small enough to fit inside without Carrier transforming for a while now; as far as Dash concerned, he was _much_ too grown up to need to, but sometimes he wanted to try and hide inside anyway. Their balcony may have been deserted, but as Nightlight headed through their quarters and into the main body of the tower a chorus of anxious voices could be heard.

“We’re going to have to talk for a while, sweetest,” Nightlight murmured against Dashlet’s helm. “Do you know where the other littles are playing?”

“Uh huh. Mask’rade an’ Fireflash an’ Mimic are makin’ stuff with them in the playroom. Merri made goodies.”

“All right.” Nightlight cycled his vents and changed course, heading for the room that once would have been a second audience chamber before the spire had grown and the tower fallen into disuse; now it was a combination playroom and art workshop for the sparklings. “Why don’t you go and play with them for a little while? I need to talk to the others, but as soon as we’re done we can have energon with ‘Song and ‘Dance. How does that sound?”

Dash was not quite convinced. “Carrier? Is it cousins again?”

Nightlight had to fight to suppress a borderline-hysterical giggle at the resigned face Dash was making. _The eirie has already had a profound effect on my little one’s life._ “Yes, Dashlet, I’m afraid so, but I don’t want you to worry about that. Carrier and his friends will deal with the cousins.”

The playroom was open to the winds and the rest of the tower, and Merriweather was waving cheerfully as the two of them approached. Dash, his worry not at all eased, clung to Nightlight’s cockpit, and was only coaxed to let go with infinite levels of patience and the promise that he could use the glue gun if he let Merriweather help. Nightlight squelched his own urge to cling and left his lil to play.

The family meeting room was one level down. Nightlight reached it just as Skydance and Thundersong entered from the opposite direction; the buzz of conversation died as Nightlight locked optics with his trine.

Self-control was lost to the winds in an instant. Nightlight flung himself into his trine’s arms with a wail.

Thundersong, in his wisdom, didn’t try to convince Nightlight it would all be okay - he just held on, bracing his pedes to hold Nightlight upright, and hugged him tight as Skydance wrapped around them both and shook. Nightlight wasn’t the only one to have reacted poorly to the Winglord’s announcement; Bubblebomb’s optics kept sheening over until she had to scrub at them, Radiant was sitting on one of the mismatched chairs with her trinesib Resonance’s arms wrapped around her shoulders, and a heavily gravid Tempo was being coaxed into sitting down instead of pacing and clattering zir drums about. Ze had been rehearsing when ze and zir trine had seen the broadcast, and Tempo had insisted they go home right that second so nobody heard zir swear. Night and ‘Dance were just the latest of them to lose their composure.

Nightlight was still shaking by the time the flood of terror and adrenaline receded, his wingtips still trembling, but he managed a washed-out attempt at a smile for Skydance in an attempt to reassure his younger trinemate.

“Better?” Thundersong rumbled softly, and Nightlight huffed through his vents.

“Not really,” he murmured back, resting his forehead against Thundersong’s for a moment then twisting to nuzzle Skydance’s cheek. “But - I think - I think this is it. The worst case scenario.”

“Oh frag,” Skydance whispered, his optics pale. “I guess it is. Do - Do we - I mean, do we really know what we’re doing?”

“Maybe not, but we have to do something. Night won’t be safe in Vos with you-know-who in charge, and neither will Dash.” Nightlight flinched as Thundersong spoke, and the gold flier rocked him gently in his arms. “That isn’t aimed at you and you know it, but that doesn’t mean we don’t have to protect ourselves.”

“I know. I know, you’re right, but it’s - it’s still frightening. I know that sounds pathetic.”

“It does _not,_ ” Tempo scolded. “If anything it sounds _sensible._ You’re not the only one, Night, we’re all scared.” Nightlight hiccuped and Tempo leaped up - much to zir trinemates’ dismay, they’d _just_ gotten zir to sit down - and reached out to grip his hands in zir own. “Don’t say such things about our landlord,” ze ordered, a smile making its way out behind the agitation, and Nightlight managed a smile back.

“The coronation ceremony won’t be for a while,” Shimmersea observed. “To let all the nobles gather and get polished up. Starscream will be too busy to think of you until then, but after…”

“So is that our deadline?” Aurora asked. “Get Nightlight out of Vos by the coronation?”

Nightlight’s hands tightened on Tempo’s. “I… I think I should leave tonight if I can.” The words sent a flurry of shocked-dismayed looks through his family. His own spark broke to see them. “I don’t want to take the risk that Starscream will carve out a little time in his busy schedule to - to-”

“Reach out,” Medley offered diplomatically, finally coaxing Tempo to sit again.

“Rub your face in his victory,” Rocket suggested wryly.

“Be his own splendid self!” Radiant called out, sharply mocking, and grinned as everything from nervous titters to outright guffaws came back to her.

Nightlight didn’t laugh, only because he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to stop if he started. “Oh, I’m going to miss you all,” he said. “Are you sure I can’t take you with me?”

His attempt at a smile faded at the hesitant, considering looks the others were giving him and each other. “Depends on where you’re going,” Rocket said bluntly, ignoring Flyaway’s attempts to wave the words off before they reached Nightlight’s audials. “If Bubs and the others weren’t here to look after my bits, we’d be in Bridgeway’s gutters. I can’t perform and mind tinies at the same time, but I _can_ do what I do anywhere. Same for pretty much everyone who arts for a living. Besides...” She hesitated, and Bubblebomb tottered over to hug her tight. Rocket gave her a grateful smile and squeezed pink arms where they wrapped around Rocket’s middle. “Besides,” she continued stubbornly. “If I hadn’t had you guys when I lost my trine, I dunno _what_ would’ve happened to us.”

“Rocket, darling,” Radiant murmured.

“‘S true.” She shrugged, offlining her optics for a moment and forcing her chin up. “So I guess what I’m saying is, why not get you guys somewhere safe and we can come after? For all we know the eirie’s gonna find out you’ve gone and kick us all out anyway.”

“That was the worst case scenario, yes,” Flyaway sighed. His trinemate reached out and rested her hand on his gauntlet; Sunshower had been quiet thus far, but with Merriweather watching the sparklings she had nominated herself to pass everything that was said to him and to Masquerade’s trine via comms to keep them in the loop. As a cloud-seeder trine they had more complex comm systems and could handle co-ordinating multiple processor threads at once, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t take up most of her attention with so many people talking in one room. 

“Mimic thinks that would be highly likely,” Sunshower passed on, before the worried surge of voices could drown her out. Nightlight’s arms tightened around his trine and Skydance poked his side before he could say a word.

“Well, yeah, ‘cause they’re awful,” Skydance shrugged. “We figured that out at the _first_ family meeting when everybody moved in. They’re probably gonna want to drag Night out to the coronation, since awful, so we’re gonna have to assume when he’s not here Starscream’s gonna throw a tantrum.”

“Might not be fancy, but my trinesib’s got a couple of rooms spare,” Lifter rumbled. “Built for heavy-loaders like us, nothing special, but that’s where I’m goin’. Anyone else still lookin’ for places to stay?”

Nightlight gratefully faded into the background as the others dissolved into several conversations at once, falling back into trading need for fulfillment as best they could. Bubblebomb agreed to be the second tenant of Lifter’s trinesib, apologizing for the inevitable mess and noise she and her pair of sparklings would be bringing until Lifter pointed out that eir sparkling played ‘drums’ with _every single flat surface,_ seriously, you don’t know from noisy. Bubblebomb laughed and hugged em in relief.

Nightlight leaned into Thundersong’s arms, shuttering his optics. Dash was yet to have discovered any such musical interests, noisy or otherwise, but it made him worry all the same about their reception in Praxus. Sparklings were so rare outside of Vos, he’d heard. How would their future neighbors react to the presence of a little one? What would Dash do without friends his age to play with?

As if Starscream and what he might inflict on everyone Nightlight loved weren’t enough to worry about. Nightlight groaned subvocally and turned his face to Thundersong’s shoulder. //I really am hopeless. Lightspeed was right; I’ll never make it on my own.//

//First,// his trinemate answered firmly, //Lightspeed barely knew you, or cared to get to know you. He was your parent only in a strict technical sense. Second...// Thundersong’s arms tightened, and Skydance shamelessly joined the embrace. //You aren’t going to be alone. We’re a trine. Where you fly, we fly.//

//Thank you,// Nightlight whispered to them both, and hid his face as his optics stung.

*

It was much later that cycle when conversations finally started to wind down. The tower family had begun working out who had found potential lodgings and who was still looking after Bubblebomb’s original family meeting had brought up the spectre of moving, and should the worst happen the general outlook was manageable, if not exactly positive. Nightlight had eventually been coaxed into one of the squashy chairs that had been salvaged and brought into the tower, leaning against Skydance when his trinemate perched on the arm and snuggled shamelessly into him.

“We’re gonna be okay,” Skydance murmured as the businesslike chatter slowed and settled around them. “Just watch.” Nightlight didn’t reply aloud, but he gratefully curled his hand around Skydance’s knee and shut off his optics.

“You want us to go fetch Dash?” Skydance asked, and Nightlight sighed quietly.

“I should call- the person I need to contact before we talk to Dash, but he’ll be getting worried. Poor bit...”

Skydance hugged him close again. “No worries. We’ll go snuggle him some while you do - y’know, whatever you need to do. It’ll be fine.”

“Thank you. I won’t be long, I promise.” Nightlight returned the hug, then levered himself out of the chair.

Safe in the private comm station on the tower’s highest level, Nightlight took a moment to gather what dignity he could before dialing in the code he’d memorized, but hoped he’d never have to use. The console screen glowed softly, Nightlight holding his vents in the silence, then a click and an audio-only transmission was established. //Serif speaking.//

“Serif,” Nightlight sighed. “It- it’s Nightlight.”

//Nightlight?// Nightlight couldn’t fault the Praxian for the surprise in his voice. //Is everything all right?//

Nightlight twisted his hands together, grateful Serif couldn’t see him. “I’m sorry to call so abruptly, but - the worst-case scenario we talked about…”

//...you need to come to Praxus.//

 _Thank Primus, he remembered._ “Yes,” Nightlight answered unsteadily. “As soon as possible.”

//Nightlight, are you or the little one in some kind of danger? Because if you are, come now. We can figure things out when you get here.//

Oh, Nightlight was tempted. “No, not - not quite like that. But if you could start to have something arranged within a couple of rotations…”

//I’ll talk to the priests. I did some research after you left, and they have procedures in place for asylum seekers. How many are coming?//

Nightlight hesitated. “Four for certain - myself, my trinemates and Dash- the little one, I mean.” He hadn’t meant to let that slip, but a certain tone to his silence made it clear Serif had stored it away and wasn’t going to press for more. “Possibly a few of my friends will want to come with me, but I can’t say for certain. This happened so quickly, I’m still a little dizzy.”

//I’ll do my best to get you here as soon as possible,// Serif promised. //I’ll send you a ping as soon as I clear things with the Temple. ...Please take care of yourself. And the little one.//

“I will. ...Thank you, Serif. You don’t know how much this means to me.”

More than Serif knew, and more than most Cybertronians would. By the time the news of the appointing of the Heir of Vos made it out past Vos’ walls, carried by what few merchants and traders were still allowed into Bridgeway, Nightlight knew he’d be a jittering mess of nerves. In the meantime, he signed off awkwardly but politely with Serif and made his way slowly back down the tower to find his family.

*

For all that Thundersong and Skydance had cuddled and fussed and comforted Dashlet as much as they possibly could, he refused to settle until his carrier was there to reassure him in person. Nightlight focussed his attention on his bitlet, but commed his trine once Dash was in his lap.

//I talked to Serif. He’s going to start things moving with the Praxian authorities - he’ll contact me as soon as he can.//

//Good,// Thundersong pinged back, and Skydance gave Nightlight a bright, hopeful smile - and then all of Nightlight’s attention and waning resources were taken up by having to try and explain just what was going on to a stressed, rather cranky sparkling.

“Maybe both of us need a nap,” he hedged, only for Dashlet to shake his head so hard he almost overbalanced in Nightlight’s lap.

“Nice try, Night,” Skydance muttered, trying to hide a smile. “Hey, eight-bit, give your carrier a second, huh? He’s had a long day.”

“But, I wanna _know,_ ” Dash argued, and Nightlight sighed against his little helm.

“I know, sweetest, and I’m going to do my best to explain, but it isn’t easy.” Nightlight stroked Dash’s back, fingers gentle over the little winglets, and Dash’s squirming eased - though he clearly wasn’t any less worried, and Nightlight knew what he had to say wouldn’t help.

“My brother Starscream has become the heir,” he began, as simply as he could. Dash scowled at the mention of his name. “That means he has a lot more power than he did before. He can tell the Enforcers what to do, and take anything he wants for himself.” Dash stared at him with growing dismay. “He could even take you away from me, if he wanted. So - oh, love,” Nightlight sighed, “don’t look at me that way - we’re going to leave Vos very soon. Just you and me and ‘Song-and-’Dance.”

Dash’s optics reset. “But,” he blurted weakly. “But - Haze and Boo and Terra-Burst-Spot! And everyone!”

“It’s up to their people to decide whether they come and live with us or not,” Nightlight said, trying to be firm in the face of his baby’s world crumbling around him. “I can’t promise all of them will come, though I think some will. But at least at first, it will just be us.”

“But - wh -” Dash struggled, face squinching up, far too much stress meeting a far too small vocabulary. _“Peh!”_

“‘Peh’?” Skydance warbled unsteadily.

“Peh!” Dash kicked his little pedes - well away from Nightlight, he at least had that much self-control. “Stupid Aftscream! Why can’t you be Air, Carrier? You’re nice!”

“ ‘Heir,’ sweetest, not ‘Air,’” Nightlight corrected carefully. “And I don’t want to be. Being heir would mean I would spend all my time with cousins. ...but thank you.”

 _“Peh,”_ Dash said again, with feeling.

*

Dash cried himself to sleep that night. His carrier was close behind him, and for the first time in a long time he curled between his trinemates to recharge. Skydance and Thundersong were a bonded pair, and he wasn’t a part of that bond - they were a stable trine, the dearest of friends and family. They clung to each other until Nightlight could fall into an uneasy recharge, and none of them felt terribly rested for it come the oncycle. It was an uneasy few cycles all told, and Nightlight didn’t help himself or Dash by being unwilling or unable to let his little one out of his sight. It made Dash cranky and resentful, and Nightlight was constantly on the verge of panic, tears or both as a result of his sparkling’s upset and a lack of decent recharge.

When he wasn’t trying to control both his vents and his tanks, Nightlight made what provision he could for both his little family and his larger one. Arranging a joint fund where the Highest Family couldn’t touch it was difficult, especially given Starscream’s reach now that he was Heir, but loaded credit chips slipped into hands and subspace pockets were far harder to trace.

Thundersong had calmed him down from trying to organise everything they owned to fit into their subspaces _right this minute_ \- with an unnumbered few cycles before they could do anything about leaving, ‘Song had quietly found out about a transport that left from the edge of the Vosian city-state boundary, just outside of Vos proper. It wouldn’t take them all the way to Praxus, but it _would_ link them to the _Tarnian Tornado_ that circled half the planet on its way to the terminus. If they paid in credits at the gate there would be no record of them, and that both eased some of Nightlight’s worries and made others worse. What if there weren’t any seats spare on the transport? Or the flyer?

Thundersong was gently patient with him when he explained that no, the transport would be far too big for them to be turned away, and if there were no seats they could just sit in the spaces at the end of the carriage. Nightlight hadn’t even thought of that - when he’d snuck away to Praxus to meet Serif, he’d flown most of the way himself and booked rooms when he’d had to stop. He didn’t have that kind of luxury of flying solo now, but he would have traveling companions, which would make everything so much less nerve-wracking. ...he just had to keep telling himself that.

Four rotations later Nightlight received two messages. The first requested the honor of his presence and that of his sparkling at the Highcrest Grand Ballroom on the occasion of Lord Starscream’s official coronation ceremony. The second, sent by databurst over his private console, told him that the Temple in Praxus was ready to receive him and his family.

Nightlight folded to the floor when he’d read both messages, his trembling legs no longer able to hold him. _This is it,_ he told himself. _This is finally it. We’re leaving Vos. This is what I’ve hung all my hopes on. Dash will be safe, he’ll grow up happy, and I’ll be out of Starscream’s reach..._

His tanks hitched painfully. His shaking worsened.

_Leaving Vos is only slightly less terrifying than what will happen if I stay._

***

One last night in Vos. Dash had cried when Nightlight had come to his playroom and told him, and Nightlight had struggled not to join him. Then Dash asked, “Can I have a sleepover?”

“Of course you can, sweetest,” Nightlight answered without thinking. Any strength he had was spent on just holding it together in front of his little one. “Who would you like to invite?”

“Everybody,” Dash answered promptly, little tearstained face tucked against Nightlight’s arm.

The prospect was daunting, but when Nightlight thought about it, he decided his lilbit was onto something. He sent a ping out to the rest of their family, and soon enough he had a list of return-pings promising to bring goodies and treats, vids, music and something from the markets that Aurora wouldn’t elaborate on. His family were quick - Nightlight hadn’t needed to say just why they were having a sleepover. It wouldn’t have been safe over comms anyway.

Thundersong was still a popular enough vocal artist that the eirie’s displeasure had only just begun to trickle down and affect him; he was working that cycle and couldn’t pick up his messages until the concert was over, but Skydance promptly accepted for both of them. He was only downstairs, working on one last stubborn project that wouldn’t let him go until it was out of his processor, but Dash let out a hiccupy giggle when Nightlight shared the reply with him. 

“There,” Nightlight murmured, cuddling Dash in his arms. They were sitting on the floor in Dashlet’s playroom-come-berthroom, now as empty as Nightlight could make it without making his sparkling uncomfortable in their last few recharge cycles in Vos. Nightlight pressed his cheek against Dashlet’s wet one, and shuddered with relief when Dash returned the gesture. “Everyone’s coming, sweetest. Shall we go and make the big playroom downstairs comfy for when they get here?”

“Uh huh.” Dash wriggled in Nightlight’s arms, propping his chin on his carrier’s shoulder. Nightlight spread a hand gently over his sparkling’s back, then rose to his pedes and went downstairs to set up his sparkling’s sleepover.

*

The big room was a disaster: pillows everywhere, goodies smudged on furniture, and a motley assortment of toys were re-enacting Solus Prime defeating the Tentacled Enslaving Hordes from the main hall all the way to the dispensary. Nightlight surveyed the chaos and smiled. _Perfect._

Skydance waved madly from the floor where he and Dash were holding off a major push in the slavers’ advance. “We’re mighty Vosian heroes!” he crowed.

“So I see,” Nightlight laughed. “I feel very safe, with such brave warriors around.”

“I’m keeping Carrier safe,” Dash piped up importantly, giving his toy a shake for emphasis.

Nightlight’s spark broke just a little. “That’s because you’re wonderful,” he said, and receded back into the dispensary room.

Safeguard was there, washing the trays they’d used to make goodies. “Oh, you don’t have to,” Nightlight started, coming forward. Safeguard straightened respectfully, but didn’t let go of the tray.

“I would like to, if my lord permits,” ei said, and Nightlight smiled sadly and came forward to dry the trays Safeguard had already washed.

“I’m a pariah to my city and the Highest Family, you know,” he pointed out. “Surely, just once, you could bring yourself to call me Nightlight.”

Safeguard’s hands paused, eir optics turned away from eir employer. “Since you bring it up,” ei said, low-voiced. “I’d feel better if - ...that is, I formally request permission to accompany you.”

Nightlight leaned against the worktop, his hands suddenly cold. He hadn’t said a word to Safeguard that they were leaving - despite it all, the guardsmech was still an _eirie_ guard, and if anyone had so much as hinted to the Highest Family what they were planning... “Your family and your life are here. Don’t throw all that away for me.”

“It is my duty,” Safeguard argued, an uncharacteristic display from the normally passive and respectful guard. “The Winglord’s Eirie gave me the commission of defending you and your sparkling. It would dishonor me if I turned away now-”

Nightlight was glaring at em. Safeguard trailed off, wings apologetically tucked back. “...I like you,” ei confessed. “I like you and Dash. That’s the true reason - forgive me for hiding behind the terms of my employment. ….Nightlight.”

Nightlight’s smile was a soft, warm thing, his glare melting away as though it had never been. Safeguard had never laid eir loyalties out in the open air like that before - Nightlight may be just as paranoid as anyone else in the Winglord’s eirie when it came to his little one’s safety, but it was easy to love Dash and Safeguard had silently fallen into the role of guardian even after Nightlight had found his trine.

“You didn’t tell the eirie we were leaving,” he said quietly, turning back to the worktop and the small air-dryer. The noise it made would cover their words if Dashlet decided to run in searching for more goodies. “You must have known. They would have rewarded you for stopping us, we both know that.”

Safeguard stood silently for a moment, eventually turning back to the cleanser with the sticky tray of goodie mix in eir hands. “I was assigned to keep you safe. Both of you. Regardless of the eirie’s actual intentions behind it, that is my function, and Dash won’t be safe here for long once Lord Starscream sets his processor to spiting anyone who’s denied him.” Nightlight startled at that, wide optics snapping to Safeguard’s face; the guard only nodded. “He has his supporters in the guard. They, ah- Comm chatter runs to gossip on slow shifts.”

“...I see.” They cleaned up in silence after that, Nightlight’s hands working on autopilot as his processor froze up over the implications. Safeguard darted sidelong glances at him as he turned the trays carefully in the drier, and if they were very, very thoroughly dried and set aside with intently-focussed care, well, at least he hadn’t dropped anything. Eventually Safeguard handed Nightlight the last tray and stepped back, hands folded properly under eir wings in what looked like an instinctive parade rest. Nightlight distantly wondered if that meant ei was nervous.

“We’re leaving tonight,” he said aloud, and Safeguard’s wingtips twitched as ei straightened up at the words. “If you’re coming with us, you’ll only be able to take the essentials-”

Safeguard smiled at that, wry and relieved. “I took the liberty of putting what things I couldn’t take on a journey into storage,” ei said as Nightlight blinked. “Indefinitely. Just in case.”

Nightlight stared at em a moment, then threw his arms around Safeguard as though ei were one of Nightlight’s trinemates.

*

Much later, after the rest of their family had made it home and a long, effusive bout of cuddles and goodies was had, the Exile’s Tower was dark and quiet. Vidfiles had been stacked haphazardly next to the monitor in the sparklings’ playroom; tiny frames were deep in peaceful recharge in a heap of blankets and repurposed bedding; the adult residents of the tower rested in their own rooms or around the edges of the pile of bitlets, just in case they were needed in the night. 

Soft pedefalls moved through the tower, one room at a time. Through Dashlet’s berthroom-come-playroom and Nightlight’s quarters-come-study, down the open internal stairway into the central halls and the communal spaces; fingertips trailed over found and repurposed furniture, ornaments and clumsy artwork made by small hands and large ones alike. The shrouded shape finally padded into the room where Dashlet recharged, burrowed into a pillow between Haze and Lifter’s little Boo. Gentle hands slid under him, lifted him and cradled him close; Dash shifted and snuggled into the warm plating, and Nightlight smiled sadly as he adjusted Aurora’s gift of a soft metalmesh sling around his sparkling.

No-one stirred as Nightlight activated his antigravs and silently left the tower for the last time, but more than one set of watchful sensors tracked his leaving, and offlined optics could still water.

*

_“Welcome, passengers; you’re on the Tarnian Tornado! This is an express transport running to Kalis, Nova Cronum, passing over the Sea of Light, and terminating at Praxus. I’m Quicksilver, your guard for today. I’ll be making my way down the cars as soon as we’re underway, so please don’t hesitate to ask if there’s anything you need. Refreshment carts will be available shortly. Please ensure all your belongings are stowed or subspaced, and have a pleasant trip.”_

By the time the guard’s speech had ended, Dash had snuffled and flailed himself awake, and wailed upon finding himself in an unfamiliar place rather than in the cuddlepile where he’d fallen asleep. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, darling,” Nightlight murmured as Dash struggled angrily against his arms. “We had to leave in the off-cycle, someone could have stopped us if we’d stayed. Please don’t cry - look, we’re starting to move. This will be an adventure…”

“Good thing he didn’t wake up in the shuttle to Tarn,” Skydance commented mildly, and Nightlight winced. Beside him, Safeguard shifted uncomfortably, then left eir seat to kneel by Nightlight’s knee.

“Little one,” ei said solemnly, “are you crying because you miss your friends?” Dash nodded, still sobbing. “That is well. You love your friends, and they love you and I know they miss you too. But more than anything they want you and your Carrier to be safe. Come, now - can you show me and Carrier how brave you can be?”

Slowly, Dash calmed, his tears coming with hiccups instead of sobs. “There’s a good lil,” Safeguard said warmly. “Would you like to play a game with me? I brought Gems and Settings.”

//Thank you,// Nightlight transmitted, embarrassed and guilty.

Safeguard directed a small smile his way as ei set up the game on the table between them. //You have my support, my lord… Nightlight,// ei amended. //In any capacity you need.//

//I can’t help feeling guilty over - well, everything. Sometimes I think I’ll never stop.// Nightlight sighed, then obligingly twisted in his seat at Dash’s command so that he could reach the board. His sparkling was still snuffling, small vents working hard to draw the heat of angry distress from his frame; they would all be feeling the lack of recharge soon, and Nightlight could only hope that Safeguard’s distraction would put Dashlet to sleep after giving his processor something else to engage with.

As it happened, Skydance was the first to succumb to recharge; he’d worked just as hard as Nightlight on packing up their home after being barred from the dance tower, if rather more erratically thanks to the irresistible urge to craft something that had kept him up when he should have been resting. He tilted over a micron at a time onto Thundersong’s shoulder, then slowly slid down his trinemate’s arm and eventually managed to worm his way face-down into Thundersong’s lap with his wings up in the air. Thundersong wasn’t much better off - his optics dimmed as the transport ate up the miles, his helm gradually tilting forward as his aft slid closer to the edge of the seat, his arm resting limp over Skydance’s back. Dashlet lasted through two games of Gems and Settings before he nodded over Nightlight’s arm, and Safeguard smiled faintly as ei quietly shut down the board.

Nightlight settled back in his chair, carefully manoeuvering his wings and his sleeping little one until he could dig his back into the narrow, padded strip that served as a backrest. He cradled Dash in his lap, wrapping his arms loosely around the little frame as Dash shifted and vented in his recharge, letting him settle before Nightlight made himself comfortable around the warm weight. He wouldn’t recharge himself - not that Nightlight had ever had the opportunity to find out if he _could_ recharge on moving transports before now; the first and only other time he’d left Vos, the thought of taking transports all the way to Praxus hadn’t occurred to him. That, and he was far too anxious.

“They won’t know we’re gone yet,” he murmured, as much to himself as to Safeguard. “I sent an automatic acceptance to Starscream’s coronation. There are two more cycles before then. They won’t know we’ve gone yet, or where we’re going...”

Safeguard, bless the wind under eir wings forever, only listened patiently until Nightlight mumbled into an uneasy recharge. Ei had made eir decision days ago, and could run on minimal recharge until eir charges were safely in Praxus with an easy conscience and a light spark.

*

_“Now approaching Nova Cronum! Those getting off at Nova Cronum, please make sure you have all your belongings.”_

Dashlet sat up, blinking in the sudden light and shuffle as half of the other occupants of their car (not a _one_ of them with wings - how peculiar! How did they get around?) got up to disembark. Carrier and Trinemates were still asleep, leaning on each other as their systems hissed softly. Safeguard, serving as Nightlight’s prop, smiled tolerantly at him and gestured for quiet.

Dash nodded. It wouldn’t do to wake up Carrier, he’d only start worrying again. He couldn’t stay tucked down in Carrier’s arm, though; his shoulder was starting to get stiff. With careful wiggling, he managed to stand up on the seat around Carrier’s legs, facing the viewport next to them. The _Tornado_ was slowing as it pulled them towards the Nova Cronum station, giving Dash an excellent view of his first non-Vosian city.

It looked, at first, the way the Sea of Rust was supposed to look when the moonslight hit it just right: an uncountable multitude of twinkling lights, ebbing and flowing with the tide. Then they got closer and Dash could see the lights were actually on the tops of _buildings,_ all spread out along the ground as far as he could see. It made him dizzy and elated, such an empty sky over such a richness of bot-made constellations, and though he was no flier, he felt then, with a keenness he’d never felt before in all his little life, a Vosian’s longing to fling himself skyward. Dash pressed his nose to the viewport and took in as much as he possibly could.

His carrier had been rather anxious over sitting either too close or too far away from the doors, though Dash had no way of knowing that right then. Too many strangers would be pushing past their huddle, but on the other hand it made a jumpy flier feel better having an exit close by in an enclosed space. As the transport drew into the Nova Cronum hub and hissed to a slow stop, the magnetised pad hummed loud enough to be heard as it took the _Tornado_ ’s weight - or rather it could be heard inside the carriage for a brief moment, before the doors unlocked with a smooth _whumm_ of displaced air and the noise of the transport hub poured in.

The passengers inside the _Tornado_ who were seasoned travellers on this kind of express were up and out first, their luggage stowed in subspaces or being swiftly and efficiently swung from storage units under the transport up onto the platform by agile mechs painted in the transport line’s colours. To Dash it looked like they were dancing, a choreographed line of mechs dipping and arching with their parcels as passengers swarmed out of the doors either side of them. He pressed his nose to the window and stared, delighted, then as the porters retreated he turned his attention to the funny wingless mechs milling about on the platform. The slower travellers were only now straggling out of the _Tornado_ ’s doors, and that in turn slowed down those who were waiting to get onto the transport, so Dash could get a good look. There were tall mechs, short mechs, heavy-set mechs that looked like they could lift up the whole eirie one-handed, younglings older than any of his friends but still younger than the cousins, and not _one_ of them had wings.

“Safeguard?” he asked, turning his head slightly against the viewport without looking away. “How come they don’t have wings?”

“Because they are groundframes, little one,” came the patient reply. “They drive instead of using thrusters or antigravs.”

Dashlet frowned at that, scrunching up his nose. “So how do they fly?”

“They don’t,” Safeguard told him, and huffed a soft laugh through eir vents at the incredulous look ei received. “No-one at Praxus will be able to fly at all, unless they are a flightframe like your Carrier and his trine, or like me. That is why they have big transports like this, or smaller ones that don’t run on one track, so they can get to places almost as fast as a flier could.”

Dash stared at him, then back out of the window. It seemed impossible - people who couldn’t _fly?_ How did that even _work?_ \- but Safeguard never said anything that wasn’t true, not to him or to Carrier. Dash stared anew at the people moving back and forth outside. No one stepped into the air on antigravs, no one leaped into altmode and flew away - and at the edge of the ground, he saw a few transforming into large, blocky shapes and _driving_ away, just along the ground as if that were sufficient to get them anywhere they cared to go. Now that he looked, the buildings stretching out before them were not part of a spire at all but jutted up from the ground itself, spreading out as far as he could see like when he spilled fuel on the floor.

“I don’t get it,” he complained.

Safeguard chuckled. “Well, when we get to Praxus, and everyone’s had a chance to rest, maybe we can all go explore together.”

Dash slid down into Carrier’s lap with a bump. “Don’t wanna.” Carrier twitched faintly, mumbled, and slipped back down into deeper recharge again.

“You might change your mind when you see it,” Safeguard suggested gently. “You might even find it more to your liking - you’re part groundframe too, after all.”

And that, of course, was so baffling as to not rate a response at all. What in the world could Safeguard mean, Dash was part groundframe? Dash was a _flier._ Just… one without wings.

Carrier had told him a little bit about the mech who helped make Dash’s spark, when Dash was still small and got upset that his winglets hadn’t grown into proper wings. He’d said that Dash’s sire hadn’t had wings and that was why Dash didn’t have them, but he’d smiled as he said it and snuggled Dash close, and petted Dash’s spoiler like it was even better than tiny wings would have been. Somehow that had never translated in Dash’s processor as him being part grounder. It didn’t even mean that his sire was the part of him that was a grounder - but Dash knew all too well that all his Carrier’s family were fliers, and that thought dropped away before it even left the ground.

Safeguard was still watching him as Dash burrowed into Carrier’s arms again; pale arms shifted around him, Carrier moving to hold him close even as he recharged, and while it did nothing at all to quiet Dash’s processor it still made him feel a little better. He pressed his cheek against Carrier’s canopy glass, and watched through the viewport as the doors slid closed and the _Tarnian Tornado_ pulled away from Nova Cronum.

Dash didn’t want to recharge. He had too much to think about.

*

“Look,” someone murmured, and gentle pressure rocked Skydance back and forth; he groaned and tried to burrow into the berth to avoid waking, but the berth felt a whole lot harder than it normally did. Had he fallen asleep in the middle of his art supplies again?

“‘Dance, wake up. You’ll really regret missing this if you don’t.”

Thundersong. Thundersong wouldn’t wake him up if he didn’t mean it. He was a star that way. That prompted him to force-boot his optics, bleary and disoriented; his entire processor felt gritty and his vision was a blur of pixels until he made them focus. Skydance squirmed, all sorts of joints pulling the wrong way, and groaned out loud as he pushed himself up on his elbows.

Nose to nose with the wall of the transport, he blinked slowly until memory rose helpfully to the top of his processor.

“...we there yet?” he mumbled, and Thundersong chuckled.

“No, but you’ll like this.” 

Thundersong nudged him again, gently, and mindful hands helped him get back into his seat - how the frag had he sprawled across the seats like that? And would it be remotely comfortable trying it on purpose? - so that he could see out of the viewport beside them. Dash was already there, nose and little hands pressed against the transparisteel, and Skydance let out a squawk and plastered himself there right next to the tinybit as he saw just what Dash was gaping at.

Below them, the ground fell away into nothing, but it was not dark. A strange, pale light glowed in the depths of the massive chasm called, appropriately enough, the Sea of Light. Skydance’s lips moved as he recorded every nuance of what he saw, already planning how to capture it in his art. Dash was simply entranced.

“What is it?” Nightlight mumbled, stirring again and blinking blearily.

“Sea of Light viewing party,” Thundersong informed him, amused.

Nightlight leaned in around Dash, catching a glimpse of the famous glow around his little one’s helm. “How pretty,” he murmured, absently petting Dash’s tiny spoiler. “I didn’t get to see this when I went to Praxus the first time.”

“You went the long way?”

Nightlight glanced over to give him a wobbly half-smile. “It took more fuel, but I couldn’t bring myself to fly directly over the Sea. I was terrified I was going to fall in.”

That got Dash’s attention, much to Nightlight’s instant regret. “Are we gonna fall in?” the little one asked, suddenly concerned, and his Carrier mentally kicked himself.

“No, sweetspark,” he said, “not at all. The train we’re on is magnetized securely to the track. It’s impossible to fall.” He stroked Dashlet’s helm, trying vainly to soothe his baby’s worry. “Besides, Carrier will always catch you, remember? I promise.”

Dash was quiet again after that, which did nothing at all to soothe Nightlight’s worry. He slipped his arms around Dash’s middle, resting his helm against the viewport over his sparkling’s head, and tried to let the shimmering light far below distract them both. It didn’t work all that well, and he could only hope that even if Dash never did quite forgive him for Nightlight’s side of the family and uprooting him like this, that his little one would be safe.

 _We just have to get to Praxus,_ Nightlight repeated in the privacy of his own processor. _Get to Praxus, get to Praxus, get to Praxus..._

It was only when Safeguard gently laid an arm across his shoulder to ease him back into the seat that Nightlight startled; he’d slipped into recharge again.

“Oh...I’m sorry,” he mumbled, mostly from reflex; Safeguard just shook eir head and smiled. 

“You’re not the only one,” ei said, with a tilt of eir helm at Nightlight’s lap. Nightlight tightened his arm a little around Dash and a protesting whine met his audials; apparently the Sea of Light had tired him out too, and the viewport was showing nothing more interesting than a blur of distant buildings, but when Night attempted to settle back and cuddle Dash to his canopy his sparkling disapproved.

“No,” he complained, struggling upright again. His optics were dim with fatigue, but that was too-cranky-to-sleep-voice all over if Nightlight was any judge.

“All right,” he soothed. “Do you want to me to read to you?”

“No!”

“How about a goodie? Is your tank getting low, sweetbit?”

“No!”

“Do you want to get up and walk around a little bit?”

“Nooo!” Dash flung himself half over the table and wailed, burying his face in his arms. “No no no _no.”_

“...ohhh-kay,” Skydance muttered, and Nightlight’s expression fell. “Sorry,” Skydance offered. “I don’t blame the lilbit, really. He’s had a rough week. Sometimes a person’s just gotta be cranky, y’know?”

Nightlight glanced down again at his little pile of Angryfeels, still feeling like the worst Carrier in the world, but he nodded bravely. “As long as he’s not bothering the other passengers, he’s allowed to be cranky. Right, Dashbit?” he added, projecting a lightness he didn’t feel at all.

 _“...no._ ”

*

And it was ‘no’ to everything until Praxus: to the refreshment cart when it came by for the third time, to Quicksilver the train guard wandering by to introduce himself, and to Skydance calling, “Look, Dash, there’s Praxus.”

“No?” Thundersong chuckled. “That’s okay, we’ll look ourselves. Wow, what a beautiful view - it’s so different from Vos…”

“Makes me want to paint, that does.”

Dash peered suspiciously over his arm. When it looked as if all four grownups were peering out the viewport and not paying attention to him, he ducked under Nightlight’s arm to look too.

The _Tornado_ was racing towards a lacework of bright ribbons nestled into the curve of the planet, looping around each other like a wreath of Skydance’s crochet wire, glittering as they approached. The still-distant bumps of buildings nibbled away at the smooth arc of what Carrier called the horizon line, and Dashlet stared as they rapidly gained depth and detail and the horizon vanished behind them. The buildings didn’t look like the towers he had grown up with, or even like the funny spill-into-the-distance ones in Nova Cronum; these bumps turned into patterns that turned into interlocked shapes Dash didn’t know the names for, smooth and shiny and all connected to each other. They didn’t rise up very high, but as the transport began to slow and they entered the outskirts of the Praxus city-state Dash could look _down_ into the smooth loops of roads and buildings all layered one on top of the other, and wondered if maybe people who could fly had a place in somewhere built for groundframes after all.

“Oh, look,” Carrier breathed softly, and Dash was too busy turning to see to pretend that he didn’t want to. “It’s the Temple. I didn’t get to see it up close before...”

Dash looked, and a startled little hiccup of static escaped. There was a big wide dome up ahead, glowing softly in the light of the stars above and from lights within, and the glittering loops Dash had seen before slowly grew into roads that spiralled out from the Temple like the arms of a galaxy.

“Carrier,” he whispered, grabbing onto Nightlight’s arm and tugging without taking his optics off the building ahead. “Carrier, what is it?”

Nightlight didn’t say a word about Dash’s resurging interest in his surroundings, only gathering him up and cuddling him close so he could keep looking through the viewport. “That’s the Temple,” he said patiently, letting Dash cling to his fingers. “It’s where the Enforcers and the priests live, here. People say that an Enforcer-Priest will never, ever tell you a lie, and you can go to them for anything if you’re ever in trouble.”

Dashlet’s optics widened; the other Vosians glanced at each other over his head, though Nightlight kept his own gaze fixed on the Temple ahead.

“You really believe that?” Skydance asked after a moment; as the only one of their trine who had never really known a constant home while he was young, and whose encounters with the Winglord’s Enforcers had been less than reassuring in the past, his voice was faintly coloured with the hope that Praxus would be different. Thundersong looked more skeptical, but said nothing.

Nightlight smiled faintly, the lights of the Temple roads reflected in his optics. “I have to. They’re helping us now, aren’t they?”

“Guess so,” Skydance admitted with a sigh. “Will we know who they are when we see them?”

“We will, don’t worry,” Nightlight assured him. “Enforcers are easy to spot - black and white plating in big blocks. Can you remember that, sweetest?” he added to Dash, who nodded. “Good.”

 _“Now pulling in at Temple Station at Praxus. This is our final stop. Please gather all your belongings, and remember your ticket is good for half off any treat at Sagewind’s Fuel Parlor. And as always, thank you for choosing the_ Tarnian Tornado _for your transport needs! Doors open to the left, and have a pleasant cycle!”_

“Someone’s perky,” Thundersong muttered disapprovingly at the speaker.

“She gets paid to be perky,” Skydance pointed out. “Safeguard, are you going out first? I can grab the trunk.”

Safeguard nodded and offered the bulky trunk to Skydance, who - not having a guard’s frame strength - went ‘whuff’ and drooped a bit under its weight before getting a handle on it. That left Nightlight with only Dash to worry about, and he carried his little one close in both arms as he followed Safeguard out of the train car.

Safeguard’s optics flicked over the concourse, as straight and tall as a tower between Nightlight’s wing and the rest of the world as they disembarked. The concourse was busy but not crushingly crowded, allowing Safeguard to easily scan the crowd, spotting exits, security officers, passengers that might be a threat. One thing was immediately obvious: there were no Vosians in view.

Skydance noticed the same thing, and started to giggle. “Look, ‘Song - it’s a whole city of short-bits!”

“‘Dance!” Nightlight protested. “Little audials!”

“Sorry! Sorry. Little bit loop-de-loopy. But - but they’re so cute!” Skydance squeaked, thunking the trunk down by their pedes and leaning on Thundersong’s shoulder. His gyros were juuust a little bit off and standing up straight was kind of hard, but there were adorable half-sized groundframes milling around with active, fluttery youngling-like wings and Skydance really kind of wanted to scoop someone up and hug them. Luckily for him he had a Thundersong to cuddle, and Thundersong was always steady on his pedes. ...ooh, and now ‘Song was reaching around to stroke a hand down his helm, and he was just going to lean into- oh. Right. He was getting distracted.

“You still in there?” Thundersong rumbled softly, and Skydance smiled at the fondness in his voice.

“Yeah. I guess I just put all my awake-ness down with the trunk.” He raised his helm determinedly, optics scanning the (little, adorable) frames moving around them. “So are we getting met somewhere or what? I dunno about Dashlet, but I definitely could use a nap.”

Nightlight gathered himself, standing a little taller to glance around, though he had been looking about them ever since they had stepped off the transport. “There should be at least one- person meeting us, but I’m not sure - can anyone see a sign for the Temple exit?”

There was a moment of distracted silence as the party of Vosians all glanced around in different directions at once, Dash’s hand curling around the edges of his carrier’s plating to sit up and look enquiringly about, but Safeguard spotted it first. “There - the signs are in Standard, at that. How convenient.”

“Then that’s the way we need to go.” Nightlight looked back at his trine as though for permission, and Thundersong gave him a smile not to grant it, but to support him. 

“Right with you,” he said, and bent to help Skydance hitch up the trunk.

*

Two Enforcers and an orange-and-yellow Praxian civilian approached them as they left the concourse, and Safeguard watched warily until Nightlight’s optics softened in recognition; ei didn’t miss, though, that Nightlight turned to hand Dash over to eir before he turned to greet the Praxians.

“Serif,” he said, and Thundersong and Skydance exchanged a brief flurry of surprised messages between them over internal comms. “Thank you for coming.”

“I’m just glad you’re safe,” the civilian answered. “These are Deckerd and Bastion, from the Praxian Enforcers. They’re going to be our escort back to the Temple.”

Drawing on his training as a scion of the Highest Family, Nightlight shook off his exhaustion to smile and offer a slight bow in greeting. “Then I thank you both. I am Nightlight. These are Thundersong and Skydance, my trinemates - Safeguard, my personal guard - and the little one is Dash.”

Dash peered at them both, equally suspicious and curious, from the safety of Safeguard’s arms. The nearer Praxian gave him a smile. “Welcome to Praxus,” he said. “I’m sure you’re tired after your long trip - we’ve prepared quarters for you at the Temple grounds. Our transport is this way.”

And then they were moving, and Dash wasn’t at all sure he was satisfied with the pace of his life today. For one thing, the orange Praxian kept stealing glances at him, a look on his face the little one couldn’t read at all. It made him nervous, and he hid his face behind Safeguard’s arm. Nightlight didn’t miss it, and Safeguard cuddled him in close as eir watchful optics flickered over the Praxians they passed; they emerged from the lower level of the transport hub and out onto a smooth, sloping road that more Praxians were walking and driving along, a ridge that rose and looped around in a great gentle curve towards the Temple ahead.

Dash burrowed down against Safeguard’s canopy and sulked.

“It’s good to see you,” Serif was saying quietly; Carrier had drifted in to walk between him and Safeguard, which the other Vosian wasn’t entirely happy with, but it meant that Dash could listen hard and still not have to look. “We were worried.”

Nightlight’s field twitched slightly at the _we,_ a flicker of anxiety there-and-gone. “Thank you,” he murmured, his voice that low, polite tone that made him invisible to people. The voice he used around Cousins and people that made him upset, the one Dash instinctively bristled on hearing. Dash’s optics narrowed, his face tucked into Safeguard’s plating; that voice from Carrier meant this person was someone to be wary of. “It - it was easier than I ever expected to leave, and that really only makes me more concerned.”

“That’s understandable. The Temple elders would like to talk to you as soon as you feel up to it, but there’s no need to push yourself.”

“I appreciate that.” Nightlight glanced back at Safeguard and Dash, his field smoothing perceptibly as Safeguard gave him a brief smile. “Tell them - tell them I’d like to see them in one rotation, maybe? That should give us all enough time to recharge and get clean. Oh, is there some kind of protocol I should follow?”

Serif fielded that to the Enforcers. “They should be addressed with the title Elder,” Deckerd explained. “Other than that, no. There are ranks here but little in the way of formal protocol, and as a civilian you wouldn’t be expected to know them anyway.”

Nervousness rippled through Nightlight’s field again - far from reassuring him, Deckerd’s explanation only served to make him more anxious. Dash clung to Safeguard’s arm and whined inaudibly. Safeguard quietly stroked Dash’s back.

“Just a bit longer, little one,” ei murmured.

“No,” Dash protested.

“We’re almost there, sweetest,” Nightlight soothed, but Dash had had enough.

“No!” he wailed, squirming in Safeguard’s arms and reaching for his carrier. Safeguard kept up with his struggles with an ease that only made Dash thrash harder. Nightlight’s optics paled, that awful anxious guilt rising up through his field again, but he stepped in close and Safeguard helped to manoeuvre Dash into his carrier’s arms instead.

“Dashlet,” he tried. “Dash, sweetest, I know it’s been a long day, I know...”

“No!” He was tired and frustrated and Carrier was being sad and scared and worried all over again, and Dash had had enough. He latched onto Nightlight’s canopy with both hands and let out a piercing wail that made all the Vosians flinch.

“Could we hurry, please?” Nightlight said faintly, and the Enforcer-priests promptly sped up.

*

They made it inside the Temple in a blur of a noisy tantrum and exhaustion. Nightlight later would be unable to remember anything of the main entrance barring a few snapshot details - low, comforting voices offering directions, an intricate wall-mosaic of white hands cradling a swirl of tiny blue tiles, the flicker of a privacy light as they were escorted into a small hallway. Deckerd and Bastion showed them into a suite of rooms nested one next to the other like fractal lace, and thank all the spires there were berths and a washrack.

“Hey, this is pretty nice,” Skydance declared over Dash’s wails, turning on the spot to take it all in. “I call dibs on the washrack!”

“Help yourself,” Nightlight said, half-collapsing on the berth with Dash in his arms. “I think I’d fall asleep on the bench if I tried it now.” He set Dash on his lap, knowing that no baths or anything else would be accomplished until Dash cried himself to exhaustion. Thundersong sat next to him, offering his shoulder, and Nightlight leaned on him gratefully while Safeguard started pacing with intent around the perimeter of the room.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he sighed. “All of you.” A smile quirked his mouth briefly. “Even your crying, Dashbit.”

Dash warbled wordlessly and scrubbed at his optics. “Poor bit,” Thundersong murmured. “Things will look better after some rest, I promise. This city’s supposed to be a great place for sparklings.”

“But it isn’t home.” Nightlight felt a telltale pressure building behind his optics and struggled to force it down. //’Song,// he transmitted, not wanting Dash to hear his doubt, //am I a terrible carrier?//

//What? No!//

//I feel like it.// Nightlight hunched where he sat, optics pale and haunted with the enormity of what he’d done. //I just - my baby isn’t happy.//

//No, he isn’t happy right now. But he is safe. And he’s going to have the chance to forge his own happiness, Night. This is a wonderful gift you’ve given him - his freedom.//

//I know that in my head - mostly. But he’ll overheat himself if-// “Here, sweetest, come snuggle with me.”

Dash let out a whine, overstressed systems struggling to cope with the heat he was producing all over again, but he let himself fall forward against Nightlight’s canopy with a protesting clatter of plating. “Don’ wanna stay here,” he muttered, now that there were no strange grounders looking at him funny. Nightlight tensed up under him, but Dash had a point to make. “You said there weren’t going to be cousins!”

His carrier blinked. “...what? Sweetest, there aren’t any cousins...”

“Yes there are! They were!” Dash pushed himself upright in Nightlight’s lap, quivering all over with indignation and stress. “They made you sound sad like cousins do!”

Nightlight gulped cool air into his vents, the aching pressure around his optics pressing in on him. “Dashlet-” He stopped before the words could devolve entirely into static, cuddling his righteously upset sparkling close as he reset his vocaliser and tried to find the right words. “My sweetest little bit - it’s all right. They aren’t cousins and they aren’t trying to make me sad. People here...people here don’t use the same rules to be polite that we do, and that makes me worried because I don’t want to be rude to people by accident. It’s easier for me when I know the rules. Does that make sense?”

Dash pouted, hard, pushing back against Nightlight’s arms so he could scrutinise his carrier’s face. Nightlight tried for a smile, but the disbelieving look in his sparkling’s optics broke it down to component parts before he could get very far. “Still makes you sad,” Dash pointed out, and Nightlight bowed his head.

“I’m sorry, sweetest,” he whispered, and Dashlet’s little hands patting his cheeks comfortingly only made the guilt sting all the more.

Thundersong leaned in, tracing his fingertips gently over Dashlet’s helm. “This is the kind of thing even grown mechs feel nervous about, sweetbit,” he explained. “It seems scary, coming to a new city with customs or even a language you don’t know yet. But you know what?”

Dash peered at him suspiciously out of one optic. “...what?”

Thundersong grinned conspiratorially. “I’ve performed all over the world. I’ve done this kind of thing lots of times.” Dash’s optics brightened perceptibly. “It’s always a little scary at first, but then you’re learning stuff and meeting new people and it’s _awesome,_ bit, seriously.”

He sounded a little like Skydance there, perhaps on purpose, and it had its effect: making Dash smile, at least the tiniest bit. “So. We’re gonna have a nice long recharge, and then a nice long bath, and then we’re gonna go out and learn everything we can about Praxus and make lots of friends. Does that sound acceptable to you?”

“Mmm-mmf.” Dash turned away again, but his little hand lifted a little to wiggle in midair like a flier finding their balance. _Acceptable._

“There’s our best bit.”

Nightlight gave Thundersong a grateful smile, which lasted up until Skydance got out of the washrack. “‘Soooong,” he wailed, still dripping. “They don’t have a proper _soaking pool!”_

Thundersong sighed heavily, mostly for Dashlet’s benefit. “We shall endure this hardship.”

“But,” Skydance wobbled, pattering over to the berth and flopping down on the floor to lean against Thundersong’s knees. “But there’s no pool and the cleanser smells weird...”

“I know, bright spark.” Thundersong shifted and ran a hand over his partner’s helm. “Things are going to be weird for a while.”

Nightlight’s vocaliser was full of static again, and his optics stung; a whine started up from Dashlet’s systems again, and Thundersong promptly tugged on Skydance’s shoulder. “Right, nap time. For everyone, right now. I need to recharge and ‘Dance _definitely_ needs to recharge and Nightlight needs to recharge more than anybody. Dash, you can snuggle up and give us cuddles, how does that sound?”

Primarily through sheer force of determined cheerful, Thundersong wrangled trine and tinybit up onto the slightly-too-short berth and piled thermal wraps and pillows in with them, tucking himself in at the edge of the berth to keep them all close.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the little family of exiles attempt to find their pedes in a new city, Nightlight attempts to figure out Praxian property law, and Dash makes a friend. 
> 
> A - rather unusual friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: panic attack in front of authority figures (this is going to be a semi-common thing for poor Night, guys). Also a near-miss in traffic, though nobody gets hurt.
> 
> Today's song is Phil Collins, Strangers Like Me. Yes, we're Disney fans. ;)

Nightlight was the first to wake, and for a while he just lay there, letting the unfamiliar silence settle over them like dust as he watched Dash recharge peacefully in his arms. It was the first on-cycle of his family’s new life in Praxus. Starscream had no idea where he was, and even if he did, even he wasn’t vengeful enough to send an army to another sovereign city just to bring back a sibling he didn’t even like.

...Nightlight hoped.

But for now, his trine was with him, and his baby was calm for once. He could work with this. This was good.

A soft chime echoed through the chambers; Skydance startled, and immediately dropped back down into deep recharge. Thundersong didn’t even twitch. Nightlight sat up carefully, trying not to jostle Dash, and his optics met Safeguard’s across the room. Safeguard was in a chair near the door, arms crossed, and ei tilted eir helm queryingly. //Shall I answer?//

Nightlight blinked. _Oh - that’s the door chime._ He nodded. Safeguard stood and headed out of the berthroom.

//The Elders have sent us a courier, it seems,// ei transmitted back after a few moments, sounding amused.

Nightlight jumped. //Could you show them into the receiving room and offer them refreshments, please? I’ll be out in a moment.// Just how long had their group recharged? Long enough for him to feel fuzzy and a little unsure of meeting new people, apparently, but thank Solus and the spires for Safeguard. Again. Night eased himself off the edge of the berth, twisting as he moved to lay Dash back down with Skydance and Thundersong; ‘Dance muttered in his recharge, still shifting back down to the deep dreams he had been disturbed from, and snuggled Dashlet into his arms when they both reshuffled back into something comfortable. Nightlight paused at the berthroom’s doorway, the dim light casting shadows over his family, and had to take another moment to let his spark settle down.

When they were shown into the compact set of quarters, Nightlight had been too distracted to take much of anything in - the smaller rooms were harder to navigate than Vos’ wide open colonnades and balconies and the enclosed spaces confused his sensors, but the hallway led him around in a gentle spiral until he came to the outermost receiving room, so he didn’t have to worry too much about getting lost on the way. That didn’t mean he got there without at least a glance into the other rooms he passed; the rooms themselves were plain and impersonal, furnished with pieces able to accommodate frametypes with wings, but with nothing that rose above ‘bland’. In some ways it was a relief, but Nightlight’s spark ached for the bright mishmash of wall hangings and windchimes they had left behind, and the dusty blue of the local metals felt so dark compared to the eirie walls’ silver-white.

Peering into the outermost room, Nightlight spotted Safeguard before he saw the visiting Praxian - his bodyguard was waiting patiently between the newcomer and the doorway that lead deeper into the guest quarters, making it look as though ei were simply waiting for Nightlight and not standing ready to block the Praxian from the sleeping quarters if need be. Speaking of whom - Nightlight glanced past Safeguard to their visitor and reset his optics quickly. Their courier was a _youngling,_ blue optics bright and excited, bouncing on his heels and fluttering his doorwings in a way that was all too familiar and not threatening at all. Nightlight found himself smiling, and his spark felt a little lighter.

Night cycled his vents, quickly checked his plating was presentable, flicked his wings up higher and stepped out into the receiving room while his smile still lingered. “Hello. Are the elders expecting us?”

“Oh - no, I mean, they are at some point but they said there was no need to hurry you along. They just sent me to see if you needed or wanted anything and if you had any questions or concerns. I’m Bluestreak,” the youngling added, a bit belatedly but it was hard to take offense. “I’m a temple courier. I know where everything is so I can help you with anything you need!” He finished with a bright beam and another bounce, and Nightlight found himself smiling again outside of the need to be polite, much to his own surprise.

“It’s nice to meet you, Bluestreak,” he offered. “My name is Nightlight.”

“I know,” Bluestreak answered, and immediately winced. “Oh - um. Sorry. It’s just that the Elders told me about you, I mean mostly just so I knew who to ask for, but they told me what you looked like and all. You’re the first Vosian I’ve ever met! Well, second - sorry, Safeguard.”

Safeguard shook eir head peaceably, smiling, and Nightlight was torn between wanting to scoop this young Praxian into a hug and anxiously wondering what else the Elders had told him. “You’re among the first Praxians I’ve ever met as well,” he answered, striving to put his concerns aside. “And the first Praxian youngling. Do you live here at the temple?”

“Oh, yes,” Bluestreak beamed. “All of my batchmates and I do, but some of them are studying under mentors now. I just run errands for anyone who asks, I don’t have a mentor yet. I mean, it might be nice to have one, but there’s nothing yet that I really want to focus on.”

“It’s perfectly all right not to know,” Nightlight agreed.

“I think so too.” Bluestreak scuffed a pede along the floor. “So - is there anything you would like me to bring you? Or to tell you?”

Nightlight glanced again at Safeguard as he moved to take a seat across from the talkative youngling. “Why don’t you tell me about the Temple, and what the people here are like?”

Bluestreak promptly lit up, and Nightlight found himself deluged in happy chatter. The youngling enthused, with seemingly no effort whatsoever, about so many people whose names Nightlight could barely keep up with and concepts that made his head spin. Bluestreak, bless his spark, did double back and explain most things when he realised Nightlight was sitting bemused but quietly charmed by his chatter - the trouble was when Bluestreak explained part-way through a story, doubling-back so many times in so many directions that Nightlight couldn’t track him for the contrails. Nightlight was distracted from the criss-crossing of topics and Bluestreak’s fluttering hands by familiar pedefalls, and looked up with a smile as Skydance sloped into the room, Dash in his arms.

“Good-” he began, only to cut himself off with a chuckle as Skydance collapsed dramatically onto the sofa beside him. “Well, hello. Did you rest well?”

“Mmmf,” came the reply, muffled against Nightlight’s arm. Dashlet wormed higher up Skydance’s canopy to clamber into his carrier’s lap, giving the unfamiliar Praxian a mistrustful look as Thundersong wandered in behind them.

“Very, thank you,” he replied for all three of them, and Nightlight smiled.

“This is Bluestreak,” he informed them, and Dashlet scowled over the arms cuddling him close. “He’s going to be our courier. Bluestreak, this is my trine - Skydance and Thundersong, and my little one is Dash.” Thundersong tilted his head, considering the information and looking Bluestreak over, giving the youngling a smile when Bluestreak’s optics darted to him with a hopeful smile of his own.

“Hello,” the young Praxian chirped. “It’s nice to meet all of you. I hope you’re enjoying Praxus so far.”

“Praxus is great,” Skydance assured him, and the others pointedly chose not to bring up last night’s whine over the lack of soaking pools. “It was just a long trip.”

“All the way from Vos,” Bluestreak said wonderingly. “That’s practically across the planet from us. I’d love to see Vos someday - what’s it like?”

Thundersong and Skydance exchanged glances. “Uh - taller,” Skydance answered awkwardly. “Lots taller.”

“Wow,” Bluestreak breathed, and despite his churning tank, Nightlight had to hide a giggle.

*

The Elders graciously assured them that Nightlight’s contingent hadn’t pinged them at a bad time, and received them in what they called an audience hall, though it was nothing like the grand halls of the Winglord in Vos. The ceiling was lower, the room itself was smaller, there was an oval table and servers trotted in and out bringing energon and data pads seemingly without fear of reprimand, and there was even a little scribbling-datapad for Dash, though he ignored it to cling to his Carrier’s lap. Nightlight was guiltily grateful for it. It gave him something to do with his hands.

“Thank you for seeing us,” he said instead of panicking, cradling Dash and manoeuvering the datapad around as his sparkling squirmed and clung. “And for all you’ve done for us already.”

“You are welcome, child,” one of the priests replied gently; rather than reassuring him, it made Nightlight fight to hide a shiver. He didn’t know what to do here, aside from keeping his helm as low as possible amongst mechs who outranked him but were so much smaller and unable to fly - if he had dared let himself drift higher than any of his more senior relations in Vos, even accidentally, he would have been knocked down to the floor in disgrace. Nightlight slid a tiny bit lower in the chair he had been directed to, locking his knees to keep his balance and stroking Dash’s back.

“We have provision here for asylum seekers as a matter of course,” another priest continued, calm golden optics settling on Nightlight’s face. “However, under the circumstances, there are some questions that have to be asked.”

“Of course,” Nightlight managed, static thick in his throat. He locked his wings in place to keep them from trembling, and only hoped that the groundframes wouldn’t know.

The priest who had spoken first laced long fingers together, leaning forward on the table with hir mouth resting against hir interlaced fingers. “Now, while Serif has given us a very brief databurst of the situation you came from, I must ask - why did you decide to leave Vos?”

“It - it wasn’t an easy decision,” Nightlight hedged, his plating clamping tight. “We had been living alone since Dash unfurled, away from the rest of our family. My sibling being named heir was the, the catalyst for moving.”

A flicker of a glance, probably accompanied by a transmission. “Your sibling?”

“Aftscream,” Dash piped up from Nightlight’s lap, and Skydance spluttered into his hands. Nightlight’s vents slammed shut, every inch of him stiffening in panic.

“Dash,” he hissed. “Not acceptable!” Dash turned his face away, and Nightlight desperately groped for _some_ measure of dignity - a fight which ended when Thundersong rested his hand against Night’s gauntlet.

“He’ll never put it this way,” the singer explained levelly, “but the Highest Family was abusive to him, and his sibling - _Starscream_ \- was the worst of the lot. He actively sabotaged Nightlight’s education and enrichment prospects, and on one occasion threatened the life of his sparkling.” The Praxians’ optics flicked briefly to Dash, then back to Thundersong, who didn’t miss the shift in attention. “Now that Starscream is heir, his political power is second only to the Winglord’s. He could imprison or blacklist any of Nightlight’s friends, or even take Dash away from him. Hence our haste, and Nightlight arranged that we come here.”

Nightlight burned with humiliation, unable to meet anyone’s optics. //I’m sorry,// Thundersong transmitted, sounding frustrated. //I know I jumped in, but- I didn’t mean to embarrass you.//

//If this makes them agree to let us live here,// Nightlight answered, //it’s worth a little embarrassment.//

The words felt like a lie, but he forced himself to say them. He couldn’t open his vents, the heat crawling down the inside of his plating felt like needles, and he was all too aware of the weight of the Praxians’ optics on him even though his own were turned away.

“Is this true, child?” one of them asked gently, and it was the care in his voice and Dash’s uncomfortable squirm in his lap that made Nightlight’s optics burn. His vocaliser wouldn’t come back online; long, long orns of forcing himself quiet when under stress had locked it down. The tips of his wings began to tremble and he frantically tried to still them, and when Thundersong worriedly squeezed his gauntlet and moved to crouch beside him Nightlight flinched lower without thinking.

“Easy,” Thundersong crooned, and Skydance was there at his other side in seconds, leaning against Nightlight’s shoulder and helping to hide him from the Praxians’ optics. Nightlight’s vents rattled, his systems desperate for cool air but just as desperate not to make a sound, to be passed over, to maybe maybe _maybe_ this time not to be noticed and slip under radar if he was quiet enough unobtrusive enough curled up small-

“Night, _vent,_ ” Thundersong snapped, and the note of panic in his voice made Nightlight wonder how many times he had said it that Nightlight just hadn’t caught up with. Over the roaring in his audials he could make out a high, thin whine - when had his turbines started up? 

A heavy palm thumped his back between his wings, and his vents flew open all at once - the shock of cold _burned,_ and Nightlight dimly realised that the whine had been his systems beginning to redline. Static crackled over his glossa as his vocaliser attempted to reboot, and he met Skydance’s frightened optics with guilt and humiliation rising like rust up through his spark.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, barely audible, and Skydance let out a hiss of stress-heated air through his own vents and hugged him tight. Thundersong leaned in at his other side, and Night realised only belatedly that their vents were running fast too - he was putting out so much heat that his trinemates were having to try and keep them all cool. A sudden burst of terror struck him and he uncurled violently fast, patting down Dash’s plating; Dash clung to him and refused to let go, but while his plating was definitely too warm it wasn’t dangerously so. He hadn’t hurt his bitlet, hadn’t done what he feared most...

“I’m sorry,” he blurted again, as though repeating the words would make everything better, make his failures less. “I’m sorry, sweetest, I’m sorry-”

“No!” came Dash’s infuriated wail in reply. “No! No more cousins, you promised! You’re not being rude and Aftscream’s still horrible and they’re making you sad!”

There was nothing Nightlight could say to make that better, nothing he could say to that angry, upset little face, but it was no relief when someone delicately scuffed a pede over the floor nearby. ‘Song and ‘Dance instantly turned to the threat, Thundersong’s hand protectively on Nightlight’s shoulder and crouching beside him, Skydance taking a protective step forward; the elderly priest raised hir hands peaceably and came no closer.

“Even if you don’t believe me,” Nightlight gasped out, and the priest lowered hir hands.

“I do believe you,” hey answered. “I have seen enough, known enough in my time to recognize a few things. If you confirm your trinemate’s words, I will enter it as fact with my fellow Elders in your sealed record.”

Nightlight’s throat closed. He nodded before he could disgrace himself again, and hid his face against Thundersong’s arm. Dash squirmed in his arms, but all he could think was _don’t make me let go._

“We are prepared,” the Elder said, “to offer family asylum.”

“What does that mean?” Thundersong asked when Nightlight was unable to.

“That legally, we are not obliged to disclose your identities, should Vos ask,” Elder answered placidly. “But if they do try to force the issue, we will not be compelled to respond as though it were an act of war.”

“And thank Solus for that,” ‘Dance muttered. “It would be just like Starscream to take it that far.”

A shadow passed over the Elders’ faces. “Is the heir truly that bad?” asked the one who had been ready to believe Nightlight. “I hate to ask, but if this is something the district representatives should be prepared for…”

Nightlight took his hands off Dash before they could tighten to the point of pain. He forced the shake out of his voice as he answered as diplomatically as he could while his arms settled close around his little one; “I fear for Vos’s future.”

“Primus defend,” one of the priests murmured.

“Forgive us,” their spokesperson continued. “Vos’s internal politics is largely a black box to the rest of the world.”

“I’m afraid that’s by design.” Dash was clinging to Nightlight’s cockpit, whimpering quietly; Nightlight put his arms around his baby again, held him close. “I wish I could reassure you, but I - I can’t even speak of it on my own right now.”

“Then we will not ask it of you.” The Elder nodded to him. “Thank you for meeting with us, and I am sorry for your pain. Go with the peace of Primus, and if you need anything at all, you need only ask Bluestreak.”

As they left the hall, Skydance cheerfully observed, “One of these days I’m gonna find out who this Primus guy is.”

“Something you can ask Bluestreak,” Thundersong replied wearily, his arm wrapping around Nightlight’s waist as Skydance did the same on their other side. “Right now, we’re going back to the rooms and not moving for a while.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Nightlight couldn’t manage another word the rest of the way back to their quarters, and after the door was shut and locked - Safeguard moving from guarding the door to the audience hall, to guarding the entryway to the guest quarters - and he didn’t manage much coherency after that. Mercifully Bluestreak was absent, and didn’t reappear until the following day when they were all tired, but a little more stable in their sparks.

*

“ _WHERE ARE THEY?!_ ”

The soon-to-be-officiated Heir to Vos Oversoaring whirled like a tempest through the preparation rooms, scattering waxes and brushes and assistants alike in his wake. The guards assigned to him didn’t flinch, but it was a near thing. “We searched the Exile’s Tower, lordship. None of the exile’s trine nor his sparkling were there, and their rooms were abandoned.”

“What about his little sycophants? Don’t tell me you didn’t question them,” Starscream spat, turning the full force of his displeased glare on the guards.

“They claimed not to know, my lord,” the lead guard answered, lowering his head and wings in silent apology. “Our squad telepath detected no falsehood in their words.”

“Then your squad telepath needs a recalibration. They _must_ have known my _dear_ brother was planning to leave!”

“Yes, lordship; but not to where.”

Starscream flung up his hands; this time the lead guard didn’t quite manage to hide his flinch. “What do I pay the lot of you for? What did his assigned guard have to say for himself?”

“Ei’s been reassigned. Eir record’s been locked by eir assigning commander.”

“And who is that?”

“Director Fly-by-Night, lordship.”

Starscream groaned aloud, head tipping back in frustration. “Of all the stupid, shortsighted, useless-”

“Lordship?”

“Not you! Well, you too, but I meant Eccentricity’s choice of staff.” The guard stiffened, distinctly uncomfortable with one of his superiors criticizing another, more highly-ranked one. Starscream turned back to him, purple cape sweeping out from his wings.

“Find them,” he ordered. “Turn Vos upside down if you have to, but I want Nightlight located and locked down. And get me a list of everyone living in the Exile’s Tower.” He smirked, optics glittering. “I want every last one of them blacklisted. Let’s see if _that_ jogs their memory.”

*

The first few cycles in Praxus were the hardest. Nightlight tried, but the thought of leaving the Temple and its relative safety made his hands shake. Thundersong was patient, Skydance endlessly distracting, but they all suffered for not being able to see the sky or step out of a window into the stars. Dashlet was less than impressed by everything around him, sensitive and easily upset no matter how Nightlight tried to temper his own moods not to affect his little one; he only felt worse when the effort failed, which fed into the vicious cycle.

“Night,” Thundersong said softly, ten cycles after Starscream’s coronation was to have taken place. “We need to start thinking about what we’re going to do here.”

“I know. I - I know. I just keep imagining...” _Guards appearing from nowhere to capture them. Starscream himself leaping from every open doorway to snatch up his sparkling. Ephemeris’ calculated cruelty, and what that meant for Dash._

“I know.” Thundersong squeezed his hand comfortingly, and Nightlight tried to relax the tight knots in his cables before his wings seized again. “But we’re here now, and we have to start talking about it. ...want me to ask Bluestreak some questions when he comes in next?”

“I should-” Nightlight hesitated at the level look Thundersong was giving him. “...yes. Yes please. That would help.”

“All right. ...I was thinking maybe we should start exploring a bit, get to know Praxus. It might help other people too.” Thundersong’s helm tilted to where Skydance was distracting Dash as best he could with his hardlight pens. “We’re all going a little unbalanced in here.”

Night nodded, watching his baby morosely draw a crooked shape that he was certain was Exile’s Tower. “I don’t think I’ll ever be balanced again. But Dash deserves better.”

Thundersong hummed, a single artless note, and took Nightlight’s hand. The touch warmed Nightlight just enough to allow him to smile, and he offered it to Thundersong. His trinemate answered with a smile of his own and briefly touched his helm to Nightlight’s. “We’re going to be okay,” he said. “All of us. I know you can’t see it from where you are now, but I won’t allow any other outcome.”

“Oh, ‘Song,” Nightlight sighed. “You can’t arrange the future to your liking.”

“I can take a hammer to it if it’s standing in your way.” Thundersong squeezed his hand briefly. “Come on. Let’s help ‘Dance and Dash decorate the common room.”

*

“Watch out!”

Nightlight jumped back, hauled by Bluestreak on one arm and Skydance on the other, as the transport thundered past them blaring its horn. “What in the spires!” he burst out, badly shaken and with his pedes a few inches off the floor.

“That was the road!” Bluestreak gasped. “You’re supposed to look both ways before you cross!”

Nightlight blinked at him. “...pardon?”

It turned out that the traffic in groundframe cities was directed along marked pathways along the ground that divided up the roads, and the grounders had developed various methods of avoiding conflicts between driving traffic and pede traffic, as allowing those conflicts to happen never ended well. Bluestreak, who’d grown up a groundframe and took it all as second nature, found it difficult to explain, but after a few conversational infinite loops were killed he managed to communicate the salient points. It wasn’t that Nightlight hadn’t _noticed_ the roads on the way in; he’d seen the glimmering loops spiralling out from the Temple as clearly as the others had, but he’d assumed they acted as bridges leading up to something that flightless groundframes otherwise wouldn’t have been able to reach. Skydance clung to Night’s arm, his optics round and pale; they both glanced involuntarily at the passing traffic, then over at Thundersong frozen mid-letting Dash down from his arms.

“I think we all need to be very careful where we step,” Nightlight said faintly, and Skydance nodded hard.

“It’s kind of awesome, but I really don’t want to get _that_ close to a transport,” he agreed. “On the other hand, well, which way now? I kind of wanna go see the crystals over there.” One hand pointed over at what looked like a small garden on a level below the one they were on - Bluestreak glanced over and brightened.

“Oh, that’s a playpark! There are crystals all over, but that park is for younglings mostly. We can walk down the street and around and get there pretty quick, it’s easy to find most things in Praxus if you look and see where the Temple is in relation to it.”

Skydance glanced behind them, following the graceful curve of the road that had led them from the Temple concourse into Praxus’ midlevels. Other roads grew from the concourse in all directions to other layers of the city - it seemed that Praxians were happiest in the upper few levels of Cybertron, and there were courtyards and airy spaces open to the stars on every level. Skydance kept being caught by surprise every time they wandered along a covered street then popped out under the stars again - it was shiny, in an unfamiliar way, and he wanted to explore some more.

“Playpark sounds good to me!” he said cheerily, grinning over at Dash. “Do we walk or fly? I don’t mind giving you a lift if you wanna, Bluebit.”

Bluestreak lit up, but Nightlight spoke before he could accept. “We’ll walk. I want to practice recognizing and dealing with roads. ...Dash, sweetest, hold tight to ‘Song’s hand and help him look for roads, all right?”

Dash nodded, though it was clear his spark wasn’t in it by the way he stared resolutely down and stuck close to Thundersong. Nightlight sighed, hoping that the playpark could cheer his little one up again. Solus knew they’d offered everything else.

“Off we go,” he announced, and suited actions to words, settling back down to the floor and striding forward again - and this time he looked both ways.

*

Dash had never seen so many crystals in one place in his life. He’d say that for Praxus: it wasn’t _home,_ but there were interesting things to look at.

After Bluestreak - he still wasn’t sure what he thought of Bluestreak; every time he showed up Carrier got that bit more tense - assured them there were no ‘roads’ in the playpark, ‘Song let him wander on his own a bit. _Just don’t climb on the crystals, we wouldn’t want to break them by accident,_ he’d said, and Dash morosely agreed. He wandered a little, keeping his grownups in sight, and sat down underneath a pair of crystal-formations that had grown together at the top to form an arch. “I wanna go home,” he muttered into his hands.

Someone hummed in sympathy behind him, and Dash jumped and whirled to look into the optics of a shiny mech who looked just as surprised as he felt.

The shiny mech let out a noise that sounded an awful lot like when Dash stubbed his pede on the sofa - sharp, involuntary and kind of like an engine cough - and Dash was reaching out to the strange mech before he could think twice.

“Are you okay?” Dash blurted, and the mech- no, the Praxian, Dash could see his doors twitch as he scrunched - he ducked down like he was in trouble, and Dash recognised something in that look. “Can I help?”

The glowy Praxian hesitated, then very carefully knelt down - Dash scrambled up to his pedes, and as he did he saw the mech’s plating go _through_ the crystals when he got too close.

 _Fear not,_ the mech said softly as Dash’s optics flared open wide. _I mean thee no harm, bright spark._

“How come you’re going through stuff?” Dash demanded, and whatever the strange mech had been expecting, it clearly wasn’t _that._

 _Because - well, because it is how I am,_ he said in some confusion. Dash scowled very briefly, not at all satisfied by that explanation, then leaned in to offer his hands palm-up.

“My name’s Dash,” he said. “What’s yours? ...can I see if you go through me? You don’t have to but that looks kind of lonely. Can you hug people? Can I hug you?”

The glowing Praxian stared at him for a long moment, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly in the face of Dash’s hopeful smile.

 _My name is Prowl,_ he said eventually. _I - I know not whether I can be held, but I think not. ...You may certainly try, if it be thy spark’s wish._

“You talk funny,” Dash informed him, then proceeded to do his utmost to hug someone with no substance.

It… didn’t work at all, but eventually Dash settled for ‘holding his arms around Prowl’s waist’ as the best he could do, and by the time he got there Prowl was smiling. _I thank thee, bright spark,_ he said. _Thou’rt kind._

“You still talk funny,” Dash informed him. “Why d’you call me ‘bright spark’?”

 _Because I can see sparks, and thine shines bright as a beacon,_ he answered. He seemed to be about to say more, but then thought better of it, and in any case Dash was already distracted by the approach of his carrier.

“What are you doing over here?” Nightlight asked, smiling faintly.

“Prowl needed a hug,” Dash informed him, and couldn’t for the life of him understand why Carrier’s optics went narrow with worry. “He’s right here,” he said, patting over Prowl’s bumper.

 _He cannot see me, bright spark,_ Prowl said apologetically, and Dash faltered, his hand slipping through Prowl’s chest. Carrier looked just as uncertain, his optics flickering over the empty space in the circle of Dash’s arms, then he summoned another smile that didn’t look at all sure of itself.

“Is Prowl your friend, sweetspark?” he asked, crouching lightly beside his little one and bracing himself - very carefully - on the arch of crystals spreading over Dash’s head. His optics kept flicking here and there as though checking for danger, wings flexing slightly, and Dash glanced around when Skydance and Thundersong wandered around the other side of the park at a mostly-innocent remove. It looked like they were checking for cousins, and Dash scowled even as he recognised the same sad necessity from Vos. _Carrier said this place was going to be different!_

_...maybe it is, and it’s just Carrier that hasn’t changed._

The thought made him want to yell, and he shut off his vocaliser so he couldn’t. His little engine growled, and Carrier looked worried all over again, and Dash snapped his vocaliser back on. “Uh huh. He says you can’t see him.”

“Oh. Well.” Nightlight glanced _through_ Prowl again, his optics still faintly worried but wings relaxing as Skydance and Thundersong looked over; Dash guessed they were comming to say there were no cousins in the park and huffed through his vents. “It’s very nice to meet you, Prowl. I hope you and Dash are playing nicely together.”

“Carrier!” Dash whined. “He’s not a _sparkling,_ he’s a grownup!”

“Ah - I see,” Nightlight said quickly, wondering at the significance of Dash conjuring a grownup for an imaginary friend. Was he seeking a protector rather than a playmate? “I apologize, Prowl. Thank you for playing with my little one.”

Dash fell silent a moment, his optics focused on nothing Nightlight could see. “He says y’re welcome,” he reported. “...He says he has to go now. ‘Bye, Prowl.”

“Goodbye,” Nightlight echoed, and resigned himself to playing goodie party with Dash’s imaginary companion.

He’d been hoping there would be real sparklings in the park for Dash to make friends with.

*

Bluestreak was more than happy to lead them around some more after they left the playpark: statues of famous Praxians, noteworthy fuel halls and the closest medical clinic, and Beta Racetrack, where the more athletically-inclined Praxians went to, among other things, drive in circles very fast for hours on end.

“I come here sometimes on my days off,” he grinned when Skydance asked. “I’m not as fast as some people here, but I’m a built courier so I’m pretty zippy.”

As Bluestreak spoke, Dash climbed on the railing to get a better view, fascinated by the roaring engines and the alien altmodes of the Praxian racers. Nightlight joined him a moment later, leaning on the rail with his arms either side of his little one and bracketing him safely against the barrier.

“Would you like to race, when you’re a little older?” he murmured, ducking his head slightly to nuzzle at the back of Dashlet’s helm. “You could choose a ground-alt like theirs, I think.”

Dash pursed his lips, his gaze turning from amazed to thoughtful and considering. “Maybe,” he allowed, and tipped his head back for Nightlight to brush an affectionate, relieved nuzzle over his cheek. “Depends how exciting the races are.”

“Oh, really,” Nightlight chuckled, his spark easing at the sound of something very like forgiveness in his little one’s tone. “Well, in that case, perhaps we should come to watch them race now and again until you can make up your mind, hmm?”

Dash’s considering look flashed into a brilliant grin, and he wiggled happily against the rail to the sound of his carrier’s soft laughter.

*

They did go back to the park over the following cycles. Nightlight’s fears gradually faded under Praxus’ soft lights and he smiled more often, much to the relief of his trinemates - there had been no sign of the Winglord or his family, no warning from the enforcer-priests or messages from Vos, and Nightlight slowly stopped checking for lurking cousins in every angular alleyway. When Starscream’s coronation date was a full lunar cycle behind them with no explosions from Vos, Nightlight looked around their cosy-but-still-enclosed little suite in the Praxian Temple and asked, “How would you all like to take a look at somewhere of our own to live?”

“Seriously?” Skydance asked, his optics brightening; Nightlight smiled back at him, a little rueful and a little apologetic, but more secure than he had been since before any mention of Starscream’s coronation. Long before.

“I was thinking,” he began to say, “that it seems we’re doing fairly well here, and it would be nice to be somewhere with windows again.”

He didn’t get any further before Skydance almost knocked him over and spun him laughing around the room.

The temple Elders seemed to approve of Nightlight’s desire to find a place of his own as well; Nightlight didn’t _think_ it was relief in their optics when he asked, but pride. He chose to interpret it that way, anyway. “There is a set of buildings in one of the older districts that are slated for renovation,” Elder Blackcoat mentioned, reaching for a datapad to call up a map of the area. “If you think they would suit you, we could set aside two or three floors for your family.”

Nightlight took the datapad the Elder offered numbly. “Forgive me, Elder, but - just like that?”

“Just like that.” The Elder’s age-seamed face crinkled in a smile. “Praxus believes that when we offer aid to those in need, the whole city becomes stronger.”

“I see.” Nightlight tapped the datapad, switching from map view to surface view. The building the screen showed was built in the classic spiraling-outward style he was becoming used to, towering over the street - though of course it still looked terribly short to his optics. “We will visit the site, then. And thank you.”

When Nightlight came back to tell the rest of his family about the visit, Skydance’s optics lit up bright as stars. 

“Hey, if this whole set of buildings is gonna be renovated anyway, you think that means we get a say in how they change it up? It’s still short as all get out, but we could put in proper entryways and colonnades so it’s lighter and maybe knock a few bits of floor out...”

“I’m not an architect,” Nightlight said slowly, and briefly wished with a pang that Countdown - and the rest of their family - were here, “but I can’t think they would object if they were going to make it over anyway. I don’t _think_ it would be much extra work.”

“ _Awesome,_ ” Skydance grinned, and threw his arms around Night for a hug before bounding off to find a datapad. “Can we go now? I’ve got the itch to paint a mural somewhere, and one of those walls would be perfect!”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we find out more about the state of Vos, and the rest of the Exile's Tower club in particular; in which Starscream unveils his first great project as the Heir of Vos Oversoaring; in which we meet the psychopomp of Vos, and Nightlight waits for a train.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter - a carrier in medical distress, which is stressful but not graphic. Baby's going to be fine, guys, don't worry.
> 
> Song for this chapter is Sting's How Fragile We Are.

Praxians were no more and no less inclined to gossip than any other mechs on the planet. The priests had said nothing on why the little family of Vosians had arrived, leaving Nightlight and the others to decide just what to tell anyone they began to befriend - the general consensus of the locals who had begun to see the little family out and about on a more regular basis was that they were really very sweet and would make an excellent addition to the artists’ quarter of the city. With that in mind, it was no real surprise that word should pass innocently enough to other audials that there were new Vosians in the city.

When Nightlight, Skydance, Thundersong and Dash arrived at the run-down set of buildings, they weren’t exactly impressed. Dash wrinkled his nose at the dull metal and tiny ground-floor window, and Nightlight eyed the patchy floor uncertainly.

“Don’t forget this is all going to get renovated,” Thundersong reminded them all, and moved ahead to follow Safeguard through the ground floor entryway. Nightlight had Dash snuggled safely in his arms and Skydance had barely set pede to the steps up to the door when Thundersong jerked back from it, a startled yelp chasing him out; Safeguard darted through the entrance as Skydance leaped up the steps to his bondmate with Nightlight close behind, and they all clustered together just in time to hear an unfamiliar voice inside.

“Good heavens, I wasn’t expecting - oh dear. Hello? I, er. I wasn’t expecting company right away.”

“Who are you?” Safeguard demanded, wings stretched threateningly wide across the entryway. Nightlight snatched Dash up as he saw a pair of sharp Vosian wings over Safeguard’s shoulder, all his anxiety and terror rushing back to him at the sight of them. _Starscream sent you!_ his spark accused as the stranger blinked.

“Oh - I’m Lacewing. It’s nice to meet you.” The Vosian, her paint pale green threaded with white, offered them all a smile. “This building is fascinating, isn’t it? It’s been empty for a while so a huge variety of native entomechanisms have moved in. I wish they wouldn’t renovate it.”

Dash wrinkled his nose. “Ento-what?” he asked, breaking the silence of his elders.

Lacewing beamed. “You know - gearbugs and air buzzers and the like. I study them - that’s why I moved here.”

“Gearbugs?” Dash straightened, interested.

“Oh yes! I’ve already documented three different varieties. Look, I’ll show you.” Lacewing turned, revealing a tiny, barely-unfurled sparkling snuggled in a sling across her back.

“Buh,” Nightlight blurted.

“Ah?” the sparkling squeaked.

*

The tiny one’s name was Buglet, and Lacewing thought nothing of letting Nightlight and the others hold and fuss him while she showed Dash her gearbug collection. There were twelve currently kept in a little clear case, each distinct in the formation of their gearwork bodies and antennae, and as long as Dash promised to be careful, Lacewing allowed him to touch them while she chatted about their classifications.

“-and this one here is absolutely fascinating. See how its antenna bifurcate at the ends there? Of course it must be to improve its sensory array, which is already very impressive, but I need to study them in their natural habitat to find out just what they’re picking up.”

Dash brushed the tip of his finger very, very carefully over the gearbug’s tiny antenna-nubs, and stared in amazed delight as they wiggled. “How come you catch them? If you want to study them, I mean; they’re not doing much interesting stuff in there.”

“Ah, well now, that’s because I need to have one of each different kind of bug to scan as a sample! This clever little case is what scans them for me, and while they’re held still like that I get a fascinating readout of their biological processes at the same time.” Lacewing’s slender fingertip tapped the edge of the case and a small screen slid out, showing twelve different sets of basic readouts not all that different from the ones the medics let him see when he went for his check-ups back home. Dash leaned in, fascinated, and Lacewing obligingly tapped at one of the sets of readouts - the data expanded to fill the screen, graphs and scrolling glyphs and tables of information filling the space where the other gearbugs had been.

“Have you been in Praxus long?” Thundersong asked, one finger captured in Buglet’s tiny fist. His carrier shook her head, blinking up at him distractedly.

“Oh, a little while now, not long at all. I studied in Tarn, you know, but they’re terribly fussy about their labs being so bright and sterile - it’s not good for any species I’ve ever encountered, and Vos is too high up for most of the _interesting_ types. The priests here were ever so helpful, and really, just a little bit of study sorted out the problems they were having with the ecosystem and their crystals. I’m certainly glad they let me keep working on the problem - oh, especially when Buglet there came along.”

“I...see.” Nightlight glanced at his trinemate and twitched his wings ever so slightly in a shrug - the other Vosian seemed genuine enough, and certainly genuinely distractible. Her processor seemed to run solely for her studies, for all that Buglet appeared well cared-for. “Are you going to be moving into the building after it’s renovated, Lacewing?”

“Hmm? Oh, yes, I suppose so. I’d almost forgotten - the Temple suggested it, said I wasn’t the only Vosian who would benefit from the extra light and entryways they could put into a renovated building.” Lacewing gave the other adult frames a vague sort of smile, then turned back to Dashlet and her gearbug box and apparently forgot about the conversation entirely.

Buglet cooed in Nightlight’s arms, and Nightlight sighed. “I remember when you were this tiny, Dashlet.”

“I was never _that_ tiny,” Dash announced, with utter conviction, and went back to poking at Lacewing’s collection.

Nightlight exchanged tolerant smiles with his wingmates and cooed to Buglet, who batted at him in response. “Ah well. You’ll both grow up far too fast.”

*

Neither gearbugs nor Buglets were enough to distract Nightlight from his mission entirely. He and his trine explored the building top to bottom, making notes on Nightlight’s datapad along the way. Dash lost interest in the gearbugs while they were working and went up to the roof with Safeguard to practice his takeoffs.

“Carrier, this roof’s great for practice,” he called out as Nightlight emerged from the floor below.

“Is it?” Night smiled. “Are you practicing your brakes too?”

“He remembered to after the first few times,” Safeguard assured him, and Dash scuffed his pede, embarrassed. “He’s doing very well. At this rate he’ll be ready for a little more power to his antigravs.”

“Growing up far too fast,” Nightlight sighed. “All right, Dash-sweetest, let’s see what you can do.”

“Okay!” Dash backed up a few steps, then charged at Safeguard. The guard caught him and tossed him skyward, little antigravs roaring, and he floated back down again light as steelsilk.

“Well done!” Nightlight cheered, clapping his hands briefly together before holding them out to Dash - his sparkling laughed out loud and cut his antigravs entirely, dropping safely into Nightlight’s arms to be snuggled up tight. “Well done, my sweetest bit, you’re learning so quickly...”

“‘Course I am,” Dash said with a mock-huff, then squealed with giggles as Nightlight squidged him close and tickled his sides. “Carrieeeer!”

Nightlight laughed and relented, then had to fend off Dash squirming up to his shoulder and tickling him right back. “Mercy! Mercy, I surrender! Won’t anybody save me from such a ferocious- oof!” He staggered as Skydance charged into them with a whoop, then Thundersong bumped into them more gently; Safeguard chuckled and kept eir distance, fondly watchful as the little family played under Praxus’ lights.

*

“This isn’t working.”

After Nightlight and his trine-and-bit had fled Vos, the rest of their family had scattered. Starscream’s guards ransacking the Exile’s Tower was enough of a hint that it really wasn’t safe to stay, as if they’d needed one, and their ongoing family meetings had turned up just enough resources for the members of the Carriers Club to each have somewhere to go then and there. How long that would last was a whole other matter, one that had Bubblebomb’s optics pale and her smiling mouth pressed thin and tense.

“I know,” she replied, cradling her precious little ones close in her lap as they recharged; Rocket spun and paced by the tiny window, her own little ones asleep on the berth behind Bubblebomb and cuddling into her warmth.

“Neither of us have worked a decent gig since Nightlight left. Caldera got fired, Lifter got chased out…”

“I _know,_ Rocket.” Bubblebomb rocked gently back and forth. “All of us are blacklisted. I’m sure Starscream’s hoping one of us will crack and tell him where Nightlight is.”

“I wouldn’t tell him even if I knew.” Rocket paused in her pacing, looking hopelessly at her little ones. “...but we can’t stay here any longer.”

“Oh, Rocket,” Bubblebomb whispered.

Rocket sighed and turned again, sitting beside Bubblebomb. The pink flier immediately leaned against the other’s shoulder, vents humming with distress. “It’s that or starve,” Rocket said helplessly.

“There’s no other way?” Bubblebomb whispered back.

“We could stage a coup,” Rocket pointed out, and laughed when Bubblebomb shushed her in a panic. “Just kidding, Bubbles. Seriously, we’ll be fine. We’ll go someplace like Altihex or Tarn - we’ll be okay. And maybe one day we can come back to Vos.”

“Not as long as Starscream’s in charge,” Bubblebomb whispered, and hid her face against Rocket’s plating. “I just wish I could see Nightlight again. Nothing feels right without him around. I feel like - like my family is crumbling around me.”

“Aww, Bubs...” 

They sat in silence as Bubblebomb’s wingtips trembled, Rocket scooting carefully close around Snuggles’s pedes as the little ones shifted in their recharge. She wasn’t as good with swift, easy hugs as Bubbles was, but she did her best, and Bubblebomb burrowed into her arms to hide her sobs.

*

“Citizens of Vos!” Starscream crowed, his arms spread wide - the better to show off the purple of his cape, some muttered, though not where any of Starscream’s supporters could hear. “I stand before you, before our Winglord, to announce my first Grand Project as Vos’ heir.”

//Oh, joy,// Resonance muttered over his comm, and Radiant huffed through her vents at him.

//I can’t help but agree, but _hush._ I want to hear this.//

The Starscream on the vidscreen turned, letting his cape flare out dramatically over the steps of the Winglord’s high seat - Ephemeris sat in the background with Eccentricity beside him, silent and watchful for now, though there was a faint smirk lingering about the older mech’s expression as he watched his heir’s theatrics. Starscream’s remaining trinesib stood stoically at the side of the dais, and nobody missed the equally faint scowl he wore.

//I wonder what’s up with our dear heir’s brother.//

//They already gave poor Nightlight the stasis-boot treatment. I doubt he would be able to do the same to Sunfire.// Radiant didn’t sound entirely certain, and Resonance shifted a half-step closer to lay a hand solicitously on her gauntlet. The slight thickening of plating around her waist and flanks would be reason enough for no-one to suppose he was doing more than reassure a newly-kindled carrier, but both siblings were all too aware that Nightlight’s friends were still being watched.

“I announce,” Starscream said, his voice echoing through the canyons between Vos’s spires, “the formation of the First War Academy. Graduates will become members of the finest and deadliest air force Cybertron has ever seen, and secure Vos’s air superiority and her future in these uncertain, tumultuous times.”

//Oh, sweet Solus,// Radiant breathed as the crowd around them began to shift and rumble, conflicting impulses melting together into a volatile morass. //He means to lead Vos to war.//

//He’ll lead it straight to the Pit.// Resonance wanted to haul his sister out of there, back to the safety of their rooms and their family, but Starscream was speaking again, and the crowd was too thick to push through.

“Overseen by my brother Sunfire-” so that’s what Sunfire was doing there; he gave the camera a resentful nod, not even trying to pretend that the honor his lord brother had graciously bestowed on him was anything more than a creance - “my War Academy will gather our finest citizens and forge them into something _greater, brighter_ by far. All are welcome to sign up, if you think you’ve got the manifolds.” Here Starscream threw out a wicked, challenging grin, the one that made his supporters go weak at the antigravs. “But those citizens with Sigma powers may consider themselves conscripted as of now.”

Were it not for Resonance’s grip on her arm, Radiant may have fallen out of the sky.

//We have to go,// she said faintly. //Now, Resonance, we have to go _now,_ before we’re all killed.//

//Just stay calm,// Resonance tried, though his hand on her arm had gone from support to clinging. //The crowd will thin out soon enough, there’s bound to be someone watching us-//

//Not from here!// she snapped in reply, jet engines beginning to whine with stress. // _Vos_ , brother mine; if I or any of the others stay in Vos _we will be conscripted._ Masquerade’s little ones all have Sigma gifts! So do Boo and Zippy and Phase! Can you imagine what our power-hungry heir would do to have squads of Sigma cadets to mould? Much less ones that Nightlight loves?//

//Sigma preserve and reforge us,// Resonance swore, and the wobble in altitude he would blame on the muttering crowd shifting around them.

//Exactly.// Radiant tipped her head back, optics dimming briefly under the uncaring stars. //I wish we knew where Nightlight had gone!//

Resonance squeezed her arm again, this time to comfort them both. //First things first, sib. If the others don’t know about this, they will soon enough - we have to find a way to get those little ones safe. If Starscream doesn’t know about them, he will soon.//

//The spiteful little brat,// Radiant muttered, but allowed herself to drift gently downwards the moment a gap opened up in the crowd. It was the most tense, uncomfortable descent either of them had ever had to navigate, the threat of their own frametype turning against them looming large in the press of bodies, and when they finally touched down on the plaza far below Radiant’s legs almost gave way. She grimaced and shook her head when Resonance moved to follow, still holding on tightly to his arm, and tugged on him instead. “Not now. Let’s get back to our quarters, for however long we’ll have them. I don’t doubt there will be a knock on our door soon enough.”

“I don’t doubt it either,” Resonance murmured back, and the two pushed off to dart low to the ground across the plaza - Bridgeway had grown empty and bare after Starscream’s coronation, the permanent groundframe residents the only ones left trying to sell whatever wares they could scrounge together. Today there were few stalls open on any level, and the lowest, the great open marketplace that was a flightless newcomer’s first sight of Vos, was entirely deserted under the shadow of the crowds moving overhead. Ribbons grown colourless and tattered fluttered in the breeze; strings of crystals and gewgaws glinted wanly in the lights, and a shiver ran through Resonance’s wings.

“We have to get out,” he muttered, and Radiant’s mouth set in a grim line.

“If we can,” she said, and steered them to the quarters they had barely been able to afford.

*

Nightlight tried very, very hard not to tremble as he handed the datapad back to Elder Blackcoat. “I had no idea he was going to do this,” he said, knowing his voice wasn’t at all steady. “Many of my friends in Vos - their _sparklings_ \- they’re Sigma carriers. I never would have left them behind if I knew.” _Radiant, Bubblebomb, Masque - everyone!_ his spark cried. _Oh, please, be safe, please get out of there as soon as you can!_

Elder Blackcoat nodded as she accepted the pad back. “Reports from Vos indicate that this announcement of Starscream’s came as a surprise to many.”

“He had to have been planning this for a while, though,” Nightlight murmured, optics darkening. “Certainly since before he was named Heir.” _Since Skyfire’s disappearance,_ part of him whispered, and he pressed his lips together over the name. “I don’t know what to tell you,” he said instead. “I mean, not that you don’t already know. If Starscream’s building an army, he means to use it - and as quick to offense as he is, it will take very little for him to spin a pretext to launch an attack on another state. But I don’t know if he has his optic on anywhere in particular.”

“The surrounding city-states are already forewarned,” Blackcoat commented.

 _“All_ city-states should be forewarned. This will be an army of _fliers,_ not just an army with a flier division.” Nightlight twisted his hands together. “Distance, geographical barriers - they mean little or nothing to us!”

Blackcoat smiled. “You see? You are already telling me something I failed to consider.” Nightlight stared at her, vocalizer skipping over a sudden lack of words. “Nightlight, would you be willing to meet with an ally of ours to give your input on this matter? And don’t fear to say no if you don’t feel comfortable.”

Nightlight reset his vocalizer again. “I - suppose. Who do you want me to meet?”

Blackcoat set the pad down. “Have you heard of the new Prime?”

“There’s a new Prime?” Nightlight repeated blankly, then ducked his helm in consternation and embarrassment. “I hadn’t heard- no. No, I - how long has it been since they were appointed?”

“Now therein lies a tale,” Blackcoat smiled, and Nightlight eyed her amused expression with no little confusion. “Officially speaking, he has been the recognised Prime for no more than a vorn - unofficially, he led something of a march through Kaon and the other nearby states before... _descending_ on Iacon.”

Nightlight reset his audials, then his optics for good measure. “Descending? He’s a flier?”

“Say more he is a storm come down to chase out the greedy and selfish of the Senate,” Blackcoat said with a perfectly straight face, then gave the highly bewildered Vosian a smile. “Don’t worry. We sent a delegation on his appointment - he and his Lord Protector are both very level-headed mechs, though the Lord Protector can be rather intimidating. The Prime himself is a great spark, and a kind one.”

It took a moment for the credit to reach bottom, but when it struck Nightlight almost lit his thrusters in his haste to back up. “The _Prime?_ You want me to meet the _Prime?_ ”

“I promised you that you could say no,” Blackcoat told him gently. “He is a kind spark determined to do the right thing, and he should know everything we can give him - if there is a single mech on Cybertron who could end a war with words, or stop one from starting, it would be him. I was part of the delegation that went to Iacon. I felt his spark myself. I wouldn’t ask this of you if I didn’t think it would help, but Nightlight, you can say no.”

“I - I don’t know.” Nightlight’s shoulders hunched, curling into the old protective gestures he had been starting to leave behind. Elder Blackcoat’s optics softened, sympathy radiating from her all over again. “Starscream, my family - I don’t know where to turn.”

“What about this,” Blackcoat said slowly. “We could offer refugee status to your family, as we did your trine and sparkling - a compassionate political gesture, if you will. We can offer them sanctuary, and in return they can give us all the information they can on the situation inside Vos as it stands. That would be just as valuable.”

Nightlight’s helm shot up, amazement and a sudden wild hope battling with fear. “You would do that? ...just for the information they can give you, nothing else?”

“My dear child,” Blackcoat said, taking a slow step forward and folding work-grooved hands around Nightlight’s own. “We would offer it only because it was the right thing to do.”

Nightlight’s vents hitched painfully, and he felt as though he had lost track of gravity entirely, his head spinning, his fuel pump hammering within him. _My family would never have done this,_ he thought. _Never ever, not even in trade for information._

He was starting to understand why Thundersong had scarcely been able to believe he was a scion of the Highest Family at first.

“I - I need a secure way to contact them,” he managed. “If possible. And - and I will think about the - meeting the Prime.”

“I think we can help you,” the Elder assured him. “And I will send you some of our records of the Prime. Perhaps they will help ease your worries.”

Nightlight doubted that very much, but there was no way to say so without sounding terribly rude.

*

//Nightlight? -Nightlight!//

“Sunshower,” he breathed. “Spires, it’s good to hear your voice.”

//It’s good to hear yours! Are you all right? Where - no, I can’t ask that, sorry. Have you heard what your idiot brother did-//

An unwilling laugh burst from Nightlight’s vocalizer. “Oh, Sunny, I’ve missed you. I’m sorry to call you from behind a firewall - I thought your trine might be the safest to call, Vos can’t afford to blacklist any of its cloud-seeders…”

//You’re not wrong,// Sunshower admitted. //Flyaway and Merriweather and I are still working, and we help the others when we can.//

“I’m glad.” Nightlight leaned over the console. “And yes, I heard what my - my idiot brother did.” Saying the words felt strangely freeing. He never would have dared within audial range of the spires. “That’s why I’m calling.” He gathered his thoughts, Sunshower waiting breathlessly on the other end of the line. “There is safe haven for everyone here, if they wish it. In exchange for information about Vos and Starscream. I have it all arranged.”

He heard Sunshower’s vocalizer skip. //Nightlight, that’s - oh, thank the Spires. It’s been a nightmare. Arrests at the outer spires have tripled, Starscream’s not letting anyone leave. Radiant is frantic - I’m worried about her little one.//

“Solus,” Nightlight whispered, his spark cold with fear. “Can you get out at all?”

//Don’t you worry about that.// Sunshower’s voice was hard with determination. //Me and my trine, we’re _cloudseeders._ We’ve been working on a plan.//

“I know you all know what you’re doing, but what do you need? Transports, supplies? Anything I can get ready for you, just ask for it. ...please. I’ve been so worried about all of you since-”

Nightlight’s voice cut off in a spit of static, and a painfully fond sigh came over the line. //Nice to know some things never change. You’re still a sweetspark.//

“I mean it,” Nightlight insisted when his vocaliser would co-operate again. “Anything you need, anything I can do to help - we’re going to be moving into a building of our own when the Temple renovates it. We can all live together again if that’s what everyone wants. I miss all of you. Dashlet misses his friends.”

//Temple, huh?// Nightlight flinched and cursed himself, but Sunshower carefully didn’t ask. //That - that sounds amazing, Night. Everyone scattered after you-know-who’s big event, but we all still got blacklisted. Most of us aren’t doing so well.//

“Oh no...”

//-don’t even start thinking it’s your fault. We all know who’s really to blame for all this.//

“All right,” Nightlight whispered, bowing his head. “But even so - if there’s anything you need...”

//We’ll let you know.// Her tone was a gentle as Blackcoat’s had been, and Nightlight curled up as small as he could manage in the comm booth, his head resting on his arm like a youngling. //Probably transport, definitely somewhere safe to fall over at the end of it. Planning this with an armful of littles won’t be easy and actually doing it will be worse.//

“You’ll have it,” Nightlight promised, and stole a few moments more to ask after the others before ending the call.

He hunched over the console in the ensuing silence, helm in his arms, fear and worry making him feel ten times heavier. His friends, his _home…_ To think, once upon a time his only fear had been for Dashlet.

With an effort of will, he pushed himself up and stepped out of the comm booth. He had preparations to make, and he would need help to make them.

*

“Tarn,” Radiant panted, leaning on her brother’s arm. “Just get to Tarn. Just have to get to Tarn.”

This far below the surface of the planet, the cacophony of the storm the cloud-seeder trine had released over Vos could not be heard. Acid rain drowned out communications and made flight all but impossible to everyone but other weather-makers. Starscream’s enforcers and spies would be well and truly grounded, and this far down the former residents of the Exile’s Tower would be safe from the rain.

There were enough dangers down here.

Catena, with hir scanners, had taken the lead, testing the ground ahead for soundness. Behind hir came Lifter, little Boo tucked securely in eir arm and a laser blaster in eir off hand. The rest clustered behind them like grounders, unnerved by the darkness and close quarters underneath the city.

“Old Vos, from before recorded history,” Fireflash whispered, eir arm tucked through Lightstorm’s. “There’s a treasure trove of archaeological finds down here.”

“If any archaeologist can be paid enough to spend a whole on-cycle down here, I’ll eat my flaps,” snorted Swansong, overly loud and dismissive in the face of her nervousness. Radiant let out a gulping noise of agreement - her sensor arrays were dialling up high in her anxiety and the stress of carrying while under pressure, making the walls press close. The undercity was spacious enough compared to some - they never would have made it through the tunnels under Iacon - but it was still enclosed, dank and forgotten, a lost city abandoned by its inhabitants, and it made Radiant shudder. She wasn’t the only one.

“I don’t like it,” Haze whimpered, hir arms latched tight around Fly-By-Night’s neck. The sparklings were quiet; the littlest ones bundled into slings or tucked into canopies if they were still small enough to fit, but those old enough not to sleep through being carried were uneasy and whimpered in the dark. Fly-by-Night murmured softly to hir, watchful optics never still from where he walked to the rear of the group, but for all he was on high alert and wary he still snuggled his little one close.

“I know, bitling, I know. It won’t be for long, then we’ll be out under the stars again. We’re going to live with Night and Dash, remember?”

“Still don’t like it!” Haze stuffed hir face into Fly-by-Night’s neck, and he sighed softly through his vents.

“I don’t either, sweetest,” Tempo murmured - zi had decanted three tiny sparklings only three cycles ago, still too young even for use-names, small enough that zi and zir trinemates had been frantic with worry. The last few lunar cycles of strain had done their littlebits no favours, but all three had already been forged with wings. Sigma bless them, the stress and fear had not grounded them. “Radiant, I don’t suppose...?”

“I can try,” Radiant gritted out between clenched teeth, and closed her optics entirely, letting her other sensor arrays compensate to try and ease some of the frantic systems. “Shut off your optics for a moment, darlings, my control is less than stellar at the moment.”

The entire party obediently did as commanded, and a fine glimmer threaded the edges of Radiant’s plating before expanding into a dim glow. She waited for a long count in binary, then huffed relief through her vents. “All right, that should do it. Go on and online them again.”

No small few sighs of relief greeted Radiant’s light, but Resonance gave her a worried look.

“Don’t strain yourself,” he said quietly, and Radiant clicked her vocaliser.

“Don’t you worry on that front, brother dear. Just watch where you’re putting your pedes.”

The Exile’s Company all followed Radiant’s advice as they went on, trekking for Tarn and safety.

*

Unseen by all of them, the Psychopomp of Vos pursed his lips in disapproval. _I have walked in dark and back in dark again,_ he told them, knowing not a one could hear him. _Better always to walk in darkness than call on darkness with light. Now your presence knells a fearful toll to those nightmares that dwell in these depths!_

Threadneedle rarely descended to these levels himself, having less need to hunt the dwellers in the Underdark than the psychopomps of grounder cities, but he was kin to the winds; he could read the future in it more easily than any windspeaker, and this small crew of refugees would be significant indeed in the times to come. He walked by their ragged column, a pair of curved swords in his hands - twins to a pair that had once been royal regalia in Vos, now lost in these very underground ruins.

A fitting place for them, as far as Threadneedle was concerned, but either way they were no longer of any import.

The walls around them groaned faintly under pressure, making the grown Vosians clutch their tiny ones closer and pick up their pace. Radiant tried to press a hand to her middle without anyone noticing. Threadneedle glanced at the ceiling, optics narrow. _Do not dare,_ he hissed. _Do not so much as shift one micron, by Primus’s leaky boron compressor!_

The spires held, at least for now, and Threadneedle clucked at them like a disapproving carrier himself. _A fine end to all things, the crush of metal and the forgetfulness of processors,_ he muttered, and stalked forward with his swords-memory held out wide. These sparks may be heading to Praxus, but he would see them safe through the tunnels. They were children of Vos, and he their blade against the monsters in the dark.

*

The long walk to Tarn was something none of the Vosians would ever forget. Time slipped away in the tunnels, the whimpering of sparklings and the fear of the adults marking each cycle as they passed through halls that had forgotten the touch of the wind. Metal dust hissed under their pedes, filtering through into even deeper levels, and the distant sounds of metal under strain pinged and groaned strangely in their wake. Pale optics flickered and anxious glances turned long shadowed hallways into traps, open lobbies descending down into the depths becoming the haunt of nightmares where Radiant’s Sigma gift failed to light them. They fed their sparklings on the move, hummed softly and told stories to keep them distracted and calm, but as time passed there was no keeping the adults themselves from their rising fear.

“How far have we got left to go?” Bubblebomb whispered, her arms tight around her wide opticed and silent little ones. Rocket shook her head, as close to the other flier as she could get with two of her own sparklings held tight; Aurora reset her vocaliser, her own Shimmer and Rocket’s Dance in her arms.

“Not far now,” she said hoarsely, the attempt at comfort falling on the dust and bare metal around them as though muffled. “We must be nearly there.”

Shimmersea caught hold of Dusk’s arm, keeping the little one close to the ground. “Do not fly,” she warned. “We don’t know what’s ahead in the dark.”

“I can scout ahead!” Dusk protested, her voice incautiously loud in the darkness. “Please, Mama!”

 _Absolutely not!_ said Threadneedle, and Shimmersea unknowingly echoed him. “We have to stay together. We are safest together,” she added, addressing all the other little ones in addition to her own. “We watch each other’s wings.”

Dance turned in Aurora’s arms. “Are we going to see Nightlight and Dash?”

“Yes, love,” Rocket answered. “That is exactly where we’re going.”

“Dash!” Terra whispered excitedly.

Dusk’s sister Dawn trailed at the end of Shimmersea’s other hand, her pedes scraping softly over the ground. “One day we’ll come back to Vos,” she said, “and Nightlight will be Winglord. And Dash will be heir and everyone will see how kind and smart he is and want to be his friend.”

Shimmersea chuckled. “What an imagination you have.”

“But Dash _is_ kind and smart,” Haze mumbled into Fly-by-Night’s shoulder, ever loyal to hir friend. “Even if everyone in Vos finally figures that out, _we’ll_ always have known it _first!”_

“Yes, winglet,” Fly-by-Night agreed indulgently, and Threadneedle, pacing alongside, wondered at who this ‘Dash’ was to have inspired such loyalty in such young sparks.

The long dark went on, but somehow the dusty halls seemed a little lighter.

*

“They have to be here,” Nightlight muttered, bouncing Dash higher in his arms as they both fidgeted. “They’ll be here. They have to be here.” The words were a mantra he’d been repeating for long enough that they had almost lost their meaning - the transport from Tarn was late. His family might not have made it out of Vos, might even now be at Starscream’s mercy-

Dash wriggled impatiently in his carrier’s arms, trying to climb higher onto Nightlight’s shoulder - or sit on his head, it wasn’t entirely clear. “Carrieeeer,” he whined, small hands planted firmly on Nightlight’s helm. “How long now?”

“Not long,” Nightlight replied distractedly, calculating the distance between Tarn and Praxus all over again, then winced as Dash’s pedes scraped over his shoulders with no care for his polish.

“That’s what you said ages ago!” the sparkling wailed. Nearby Praxians heading past on their own business glanced their way at the sound, anything from faintly irritated to amused. Night barely noticed, for all it felt as though his plating would fizzle away from his wires. He bounced Dash absently, his wings twitching with the motion, and twitched an optic when Dash’s hand slipped as he clung.

“Gently, Dashlet, please,” he pleaded, and lifted a hand to brace an errant pede before it knocked his helm vent off entirely. “I don’t know when they’ll get here, any more than I did the last time you asked-”

A melodic chime interrupted him, and both carrier and sparkling whipped about to stare up at the tannoy speaker overhead.

“ _Passengers for the_ Tarnian Tornado _, passengers for the_ Tarnian Tornado-”

“That’s them!” Dash cried, and threw himself forward atop Nightlight’s helm.

“ _-pologise for the delay in service. The_ Tornado _will be arriving in Praxus three cycles later than expected-_ ”

“PEH!”

“How long have we been waiting?” Nightlight wondered aloud, lifting Dash back off his helm. “Sweetest, I can’t see the arrivals display.”

Dash groused - he’d waited far longer than any lillun could have been expected to, in his opinion! - but settled down enough that his carrier could see the overhead display. Nightlight’s optics quickly spotted the _Tarnian Tornado_ listing, complete with updated arrival time, and the current time on the bottom of the screen.

“We’ve got about a cycle left to wait,” he sighed.

“Peh,” Dash opined.

“Yes, peh,” Nightlight admitted, ruffling Dash’s helm. “But at least we know they’re coming. Let’s comm Safeguard and go to the market for a bit. There’s no sense standing around for another cycle.”

Dash groused, but allowed Nightlight to set him down and lead him by the hand out of the concourse. Relief washed over him - if anything could distract a wiggly, impatient little one, the market stalls would do the trick.

Solus willing, it could do the same for Nightlight.

*

The market didn’t really distract anyone for long, but it did mean that Nightlight’s first frantic burst of buying up half of Praxus’ supplies was topped off now with things like toys that Dash insisted one or other of his friends would like, some goodies for everyone including the little ones, and the long-suffering Safeguard consenting to having eir subspace filled almost to capacity with treats and additives after Nightlight had filled his own.

“You know the priests won’t deny any of them fuel,” ei pointed out patiently as Nightlight tried to fit just one more container in. “And they are remarkably used to sparklings and their tastes.”

“I know, I know. I just - want everyone to feel safe, and having their favourite fuels to hand should help.”

Safeguard gave him a warm smile, then stepped forward to help Nightlight turn the package to fit into eir subspace.

Finally, just under a cycle later, Nightlight found himself leaning anxiously out from the platform to try and peer along the magline.

“Is it coming? Is it coming?” Dash demanded, bouncing impatiently on Nightlight’s shoulder as Safeguard stood behind; the guard had relaxed somewhat in Praxus, but still kept close enough for no-one to get between them in a hurry.

“Just a little bit longer, Dashlet, I can’t- there! Yes, there, it’s coming now!”

The transport’s whistle almost but didn’t quite drown out Dash’s squeal. “Bitlet-!” Nightlight gasped as he tried not to lose his grip on his wiggling progeny. “Dash, for Solus’ sake, please don’t launch yourself in front of the transport!”

Which, of course, was a terrible slander against Dash’s flying skills that needed sorting out immediately, and the next thing Nightlight knew he was surrounded by wings. “Shimmersea!” he blurted, as Safeguard herded the last of the weepy refugees to him. “Aurora, Countdown, Bubblebomb, oh _Radiant,_ everyone, _everyone-!_ ”

They formed a knot of Seekers, wings poking into commuters’ faces and generally getting in everybody’s way. For once in his life, Nightlight could not have possibly cared less.

*

Radiant’s use of her Sigma power to light the way to Tarn had taken its toll. She’d slept all the way to Praxus, and leaned heavily on Resonance for support as she disembarked. Her field felt threadbare when Nightlight hugged her, and when he pulled back his worry was plain on his face.

“I’m fine,” she assured him. “It was a long walk, that’s all.”

Nightlight smiled faintly. “We’ve a transport waiting to take us back to the temple.” Suiting words to action, he bustled the wing of shaken, exhausted Vosians and their little ones out of the station, onto the concourse and into the large Temple transport waiting patiently outside.

Halfway to the temple, Radiant fainted.

“Radiant!” Bubblebomb clutched at her arm, Radiant’s head lolling back as she went limp against her trinesib’s shoulder. Resonance’s optics flared almost white, his hand locked onto her gauntlet. “Night, she needs a medic!”

Nightlight scrambled to the front of the transport, the Praxian priest at the controls already turning around to see what the noise was all about.

“Radiant’s fainted,” he blurted, grabbing hold of the back of the co-pilot’s chair to steady himself. “She’s carrying, she needs a medic!”

The Praxian only nodded - Nightlight hadn’t caught her name, mostly too embarrassed at her having to wait around for the transport to do more than apologise - and her visor lit as she consulted her HUD. “Get everyone else strapped in. I’ll call in to the Temple, they’ll be ready when we get there.”

“Thank you,” Nightlight gasped out, and threw himself back into the rear of the transport as sirens began to wail over his head. Dash’s optics were wide and frightened and the other sparklings were starting to cry at the sudden noise; Nightlight gave them all a smile that was as reassuring as he could possibly manage. 

“Everyone needs to pull out the straps at the sides of their seats - we’re going to go faster so Radiant can get looked after. Here, little ones, hold still - she’s going to be fine, but we need to be quick-”

The transport accelerated, and Nightlight dropped to his knees and flared his wings to brace himself, his hands already moving from Dash’s harness to Shimmersea’s twins. “-there we are, all done. Hold still for me, bitlet...”

“Is Radiant gonna be okay?” Haze wobbled, holding on tight to Fly-by-Night’s hands; Nightlight gave hir a quick smile.

“She’ll be absolutely fine as soon as we get her to a medic,” he assured hir, and added one more weight of guilt to his burden for the lie.

Dash reached out a hand, straining against his straps to hold Haze’s. The pair of them smiled worriedly at each other - together again, and nothing would separate them again. Radiant’s bravery had given them that.

*

The Temple’s medical staff were waiting as the transport pulled up, and they wasted no time getting Radiant on the stretcher between them and hurrying her away. Resonance followed, calling over his shoulder that he’d comm them as soon as he knew something, and the rest of the Vosians flocked awkwardly around Nightlight, patting his wings and holding his hands.

“Nightlight? Are these your friends?”

Aurora turned and muffled a squeak. “Oh, he’s so tiny,” she gasped, and then her optics went wide as Bluestreak gave her a baffled headtilt. “Oh! I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude.”

“He is awfully cute though,” Cadena murmured, and Bluestreak’s doors fluttered in consternation.

“Um,” he managed. “Hello. My name’s Bluestreak. I’m assigned to Nightlight as his guide. If there’s anything you need...”

“I don’t think they’re listening,” Haze muttered, and let Dash lead hir closer to introduce hirself. “Ignore the grownups, they’re weird. I’m Haze of Vos. Do you like games?”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Starscream throws a fit, Radiant has some serious decisions to make, Dash helps his friends settle into Praxus, and Night invests in the property market.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No real chapter warnings this time, though there is talk of medical support for an incredibly premature sparkling. We promise, though, tinybit will be fine. :D
> 
> Song for this chapter - Ahead On Our Way, from the FFVII soundtrack.

Very little of the Heir Oversoaring’s receiving rooms survived his fury when he was truly angry, and this time around his guards gave up on appearances and simply dove for cover until the worst explosions passed. When Starscream ran out of trinkets and brushes to throw, he stormed over to one unlucky guard who didn’t quite manage to get out of the way in time and hauled him up by a wingtip; the squad's trineleader winced at the sound of crumpling metal and immediately hopped to the far side of Starscream and his captive, snapping into a hasty salute as his squadmate twisted in Starscream’s grip.

“My Lord, my Lord _please-_ ”

“They escaped!” Starscream spat, the words snapping and sizzling against the captive guard’s plating as his fingers dug into the dents he created. “Those miserable- You dare bring me news like that? Find them! I don’t care how, find where they ran and drag them back by their wings if you have to!”

“Yes, my Lord, right away,” the guard blurted, reaching for his squadmate’s hand, “we’ll just-” The third guard was already hightailing it out of Starscream’s rooms - neither one could blame him, really, for all they wished they had thought of that first. The guard tried to pull his comrade away, but a seething Starscream towed his captive back to glower in his face.

“Perhaps you don’t understand the gravity of this situation,” he hissed, and the hapless guard’s mouth worked before his squadmate pinged him to _shut up, nothing you say could possibly make this better._ “My dear brother has already shown himself willing to consort with grounders, with foreign elements who are jealous of our power and prestige, and his fellow Exiles have been drawn into his perverse little world. This is about more than a handful of traitors and their younglings - this is about the survival of Vos itself. I _will_ have my brother, _back here_ and _back under control,_ and unable to drag Vos down with his parasitic influence!”

The guard whose wing Starscream was twisting wasn’t listening; his face was a mask of pain. Starscream scoffed and shoved him back, into the arms of his squad leader. “Get out of my sight!” he screeched. “Don’t come back until you have Nightlight in hand!”

“Yes, my lord,” the injured guard managed, and his squadleader hurried him out. Starscream stood in the wreckage of his tantrum, feeling much better about the situation and the world in general.

*

“Radiant?”

Nightlight peeked around the edge of the door, his voice quiet and hesitant - Radiant’s room was dimly lit and made of soft edges in the shadows, and for all the medics had allowed him in he didn’t want to wake her if she or Resonance were resting. Resonance himself pinged Nightlight’s comm from somewhere inside, an affirmative and a welcome, and Nightlight slipped inside to let the door close before looking for the two.

When he turned Resonance gave him a pale, unhappy smile, his optics dim and weary; both hands wrapped around his trinesib’s as she lay on the berth, mindful of the monitors attached to her medical ports. Radiant managed a brighter smile of her own when she caught sight of him, but it was a wan and tired thing.

“Oh, Radiant,” he whispered, and obediently came over to her berth when she managed a wingtwitch his way.

“Well, darling,” she rasped quietly. “Let’s not try something quite so exciting for a little while, shall we?”

“Okay,” he whispered back, cradling her free hand when she offered it. “I’m so sorry, Radiant-”

“None of that now.” That was firm, no matter how tired she still sounded, and Nightlight ducked his head lower in acknowledgement. “None of that, thank you so much. We’re all here so you wouldn’t have to keep apologising, dear, and don’t you forget it.”

Nightlight’s mouth wobbled. “I know, I - I’m so glad you’re here. Dashlet-” His vents hiccupped and he put a hand to his mouth, smiling through unshed tears. “Dashlet hasn’t been happy at all. He’s missed his friends terribly.”

Radiant held out an arm to him, and Nightlight gratefully knelt by her berthside to let her hug him around the shoulders. “Well, he’s got his friends now,” she said. “And so do you. I’m sure Safeguard and your trinemates have been doing their best, but it’s going to be so much easier with all of us here to look after each other, I know.” Nightlight hiccupped and nodded, and Radiant patted his back approvingly. “You must tell us all about Praxus. Our brave, intrepid explorer!” she said with a fond smile.

“You exaggerate,” Nightlight protested, but he couldn’t help but smile back.

“I never,” Radiant protested, sticking her nose in the air like a member of the Highest Family, and Nightlight surprised himself by laughing. He only swallowed his laughter when the Temple medic came in, furrowing his optic bands at the datapad in his hands.

“Radiant?” he asked, and Nightlight sat back to give Radiant some room. “I’ve reviewed your scans and I’d like to go over a few options with you.” He glanced at Resonance and Nightlight, then back at Radiant, a silent query in his optics.

“These are my family, Windspiral,” Radiant answered calmly. “Is my sparkling all right?”

Windspiral accepted her judgement, passing his datapad to Resonance to show Radiant. “You and your sparkling have both been under a great deal of strain,” he explained as Radiant stared at the screen, “and this on top of the few frayed connections my assistant detected - I’m afraid your sparkling is now in distress, putting both eir and you at serious risk of injury.”

Nightlight watched Radiant’s optics go pale. He squeezed her arm as Resonance asked, “What are her options?”

“We can hook you up to a supportive rig, which will take some of the strain off your systems, and hopefully that will be enough to stabilize you both until your stress responses decline,” Windspiral explained. “Unfortunately that may be more of a palliative than a cure, and I’m worried about the potential for spark-faults. A better option, if you’re willing, would be to induce decanting.”

Resonance’s vents hissed softly, and Radiant’s optics paled to white. Her hand tightened on Nightlight’s as she took in a sharp invent.

“That sounds - dire,” she managed after a moment. “Surely - surely ei’s far too small to decant, I went for my checks before we left and eir substructure is still barely there!”

The medic inclined his head without looking away, optic bands and field sympathetic. “Eir basic strut supports are almost formed, but you’re right in that very little else outside of spark containment is formed so far. The rig I mentioned will keep eir development progressing almost normally, but we won’t be able to fix those frayed attachments, and there is a miniscule percentage of a chance that they would self-repair correctly.”

Radiant’s head lowered, pressing her forehelm hard against Resonance’s gauntlet as his hand tightened on hers. Windspiral waited in respectful silence, letting her gather herself; the quiet stretched desperately thin, and Nightlight squeezed Radiant’s other hand helplessly for want of something useful to do.

“How long do I have to decide?” she asked finally, the strain in her voice highlighted by the markers popping up on the medical monitors. 

Windspiral glanced at the screens beside her berth and the datapad Resonance still held; his doorwings fluttered expressively as he replied. “The sooner the better, though I do understand how hard this is. We can set up the rig for the time being and run some more tests, add more materials to your fuel, but while that will help it isn’t a long-term solution. You are both under a lot of strain right now and it’s still manifesting in your systems, so the best advice I can give is to think this through as calmly as possible, as sparkless as it sounds.”

His gaze brushed over Resonance, then Nightlight, then back to Radiant, optic bands warming with sympathy. “You’re being indescribably brave, and your sparkling will need that.”

Radiant blinked, and suddenly her optics glimmered in the overhead lights. “Could you give me a few moments?”

“Of course. Call me when you’re ready.”

Windspiral exited, and Radiant lowered her head, her hands clutching Resonance’s and Nightlight’s. “Oh, sister,” Resonance murmured. “I’m so sorry. We never should have-”

“Do put a cork in it, brother,” Radiant said, too-loud, not entirely steady, and Resonance laughed. After a moment Radiant laughed too, and her tears stubbornly refused to fall.

 _I’ll never be that strong,_ Nightlight marveled, watching her face. His hand tightened around hers, and Radiant turned her smile on him too. “I wish there was something I could do,” he blurted helplessly.

“Nightlight, you’ve given us somewhere safe.” Radiant tugged his arm, determinedly hauling him close enough to be hugged again. “You’ve done a great deal for me. Just think, without you I’d still be in Vos, being dragged to that awful academy of your aft-sucking brother’s - kicking and screaming no doubt. Now that _would_ have been stressful to the sparkling.”

“Please don’t,” Resonance murmured, pained.

“What? He’s not here, I can say what I like,” Radiant sniffed. “I plan to insult him at least once every on-cycle. I think it will be healthy, all that pent-up frustration.” All at once, she giggled. “Oh, I should mention that to Bubblebomb. She’ll swear so much she might vaporize nearby buildings!”

“I’m not sure the Praxians would be thrilled with that,” Nightlight pointed out faintly, part of him still a bit shocked by Radiant’s daring. _You can take the miswire out of the Highest Family, but you can’t take the Highest Family out of the miswire. Or so it seems._

Radiant sighed gustily. “Nightlight, if you want to help, be a dear and see if Shimmersea’s available to see me. She’s the one with experience in carrying, after all.”

“Of course I will,” he promised, and squeezed Radiant’s hand again before he stood. “Can I get either of you anything? Fuel, or a tarp, or-”

“Just Shimmersea, darling, but you are a terribly sweet thing for trying.” Radiant gave him a smile, a wash of bravery over her own hurts, and Nightlight’s hands tightened convulsively around hers before he could think. He leant in and brushed his cheek against hers, as familiar a nuzzle as he would have given Dash, as he would have for his spark-kin if they had got along even slightly, then straightened in embarrassment and patted Radiant’s hand.

“I’ll - I’ll ask Shimmersea to come,” he stuttered, and fled before Radiant could smile again.

“Oh, that silly fluttershy,” she sighed as the door slid closed behind him. “I don’t mind in the slightest.”

*

Dash was over the moons to have his friends back. The Temple suite was flooded with little ones: some younger than him and needing to be taught how to play, some older than him with their thoughts turning to their future vocations, enough his age or near-enough that they could get a proper game of wing-tag going once everyone was rested enough. It was a long way from Vos, and they’d had to walk all the way to Tarn on their own pedes. Underground, no less! It made Dash just a little jealous.

But they were all _here_ now. There would be plenty of time for more adventures now they were together again.

Dash padded carefully around the main room, where most of the Exiles were draped over every cushion and item of furniture the priests could get on short notice. Adults and younglings were curled up together, dozing or reading quietly, and while he traded a few smiles and waves with the ones still awake, Dash didn’t disturb them. He ducked into the little dispensary room, and found Skydance mixing pigments at the table.

“Hey, bitlet,” ‘Dance greeted, low-voiced and absorbed in his paints. Dash climbed up to sit with him, watching as he had done since he was tiny. ‘Dance’s hands were magic.

“Hi, ‘Dance. Everyone’s in recharge now. ...’Song’s not done yet?”

“He won’t be done until next shift.” Skydance glanced up, giving him a brief smile. “Sorry, bit.”

Dash nodded faintly. “...Carrier an’ Safeguard aren’t back yet either. Is Radiant okay?”

“I dunno yet.” Skydance reached over for the little bowl he called a mortar, his fingers picking out crystals of a deep blue colour that Dash liked and plinking them into the bowl. Dash knelt up on the bench - just a little too low for Skydance to sit at comfortably, and Dash could see the tips of ‘Dance’s pedes poking out the other side of the table - and watched as Skydance started grinding the crystals down with smooth, practised twists of his wrist. ‘Dance didn’t look up again right away, but Dash knew to be patient when Skydance was making things and let him split his attention whichever way worked. 

“...Carrier asked Shimmersea to come see Radiant in the medbay,” he said finally, and Dash’s optics widened. “Shimmersea knows a lot about lots of things, so we’ll probably hear soon. Radiant might be poorly for a while, though, so we’re gonna have to help everybody get used to Praxus.” Skydance glanced over at Dash then, and gave him a brighter smile that looked much more like Dash’s ‘Dance and made him smile right back. “Good thing we’re all experts now, huh? We can take Haze to the little goodie shop, we can show everyone the park...”

“Aurora’ll like the markets,” Dash agreed, his own smile widening - he could show all of the good things about this grounder city to his friends! That would make it a whole lot easier to adjust. And Carrier could tell the other grownups about roads, too. “And we can go on the ramps!”

Skydance laughed, like it was a relief to. “Maybe not when people are trying to walk on them this time, huh?”

“Awww~”

“Wingnut,” Skydance teased, reaching over to ruffle Dash’s helm with mineral-stained fingers. “Can you run across the hall and grab another bottle of mixing oil? I’m running low here.”

“Okay.” Dash hopped down and headed to the door, past the main room full of sleeping Vosians, and out into the hall where a series of storage lockers stood across from their respective residential suites. He startled to find the hall occupied. “Oh - hi, Prowl.”

The psychopomp turned. _Greetings, bright spark,_ he said, inclining his torso in a bow that Dash copied out of curiosity. _How farest thou?_

“I’m good,” Dash answered after a moment to puzzle that out. “I have to be quiet though. All my friends are here from Vos and they’re mostly asleep.”

Prowl glanced up. _I can sense their sparks. I did wonder at so many children of the sky - have they come to visit thee and thy family?_

Dash bounced a little on his pedes, unable to contain his excitement. “No, they’re here to stay! ...oops.” He cupped a hand over his mouth.

 _Fear not, bright spark,_ Prowl assured him. _I shall not air thy secrets. Most of all will not hear me, but I swear it to thee nonetheless._ Dash beamed at him, and Prowl smiled gently back at him before changing the subject slightly. _Is this not a good thing, then, that your friends are here with you?_

“Welll,” Dash hedged, shifting his weight from pede to pede. “Kinda. ...Want to come find the mixing oil with me and I’ll tell you? ‘Dance wants some, he’s doing art stuff.”

Prowl didn’t seem to know what to make of either the invitation, the materials or their uses, but he gamely drifted alongside Dash as he opened up the locker. Skydance kept things mostly-organised, but the Praxian priests’ arrangements for refugees weren’t really set up to handle a kind-of-distractible artist’s stash and it was sort of messy. Dash peered into the deepest shelf, one he was just about tall enough to reach right into the back of, and spotted the half-empty bottle of oil behind a few other jaws of pigment crystals.

“They had to run away from Vos because cousins were being horrible,” he said matter of factly, leaning into the locker with his weight resting against the shelf. He’d learned when he was very small not to climb shelves of art-stuff, after a memorable afternoon spent getting him out of a jar of pigments and then getting the rest of the Exile's Tower back to its normal colours, and it wasn’t so tall that he needed to hover. He was kind of tempted anyway, just to show off a little bit for Prowl. “Radiant’s carrying and she’s in the medbay because of them, and everybody’s had to walk for cycles and cycles to get here so they’re really really tired, but - but yeah, it’s good they’re here so it’s not just us. I wasn’t s’posed to be loud, that’s why I oopsed before.”

 _Ah._ Prowl nodded. _If it eases thy worry, I sensed no spark stirring at thy voice. They sleep still._ Now that Dash mentioned it, he _could_ sense their weariness and strain, a faint veil over their precious sparklight. _I am glad they have found a safe place to rest here._

“Me too.” Dash wiggled a bit, the bottle juuust out of reach. “‘Cause seriously, cousins are horrible, that’s why Carrier had to leave - got it!” He withdrew, bottle of oil held triumphantly with both hands.

 _Well done,_ Prowl told him, then, _Forgive me, but - cousins?_

Dash hesitated, remembering what little Carrier and his trinemates were willing to say to outsiders. Safeguard, of course, said nothing. “Carrier has a big family,” he answered with deliberate care that belied his youth and usual exuberance, “and all of them are mean to him.”

 _I see._ Prowl glanced at the wall behind which the flier-sparks slumbered, wondering what power could drive them to a groundling city simply on the strength of ‘mean.’ Just what was going on in Vos? Perhaps he ought to consult with the psychopomp of that city...

 _I am glad they are here now,_ he told Dash gravely. _And I have found over the vorn that family - true family - is defined much more by love than by sparking. Take care of your family, bright spark._

“Of course I will,” Dash answered determinedly, and toddled forward to air-hug the psychopomp. “I should go. ‘Dance is waiting for his oil. Thanks for talking with me.”

 _It was my pleasure, as always, little one,_ Prowl answered, and let Dash go. He watched the young Vosian determinedly march back to his family, the bottle of oil cradled to his chest, then tipped his helm back and considered the strings of sparklight thrumming light and thought through Praxus. 

Perhaps he should seek out Threadneedle now, while there was still quiet and time to spare.

*

“Ei is going to settle into a development pod,” Radiant said without a single quiver to her marvellous voice, “and I am going to be here for all the time ei needs to finish constructing eirself.”

Heavy silence filled the room, Resonance reaching to hold her hand as Bubblebomb’s hands flew to her mouth. “Is that - okay?”

“It is about as far away from ‘okay’ as possible, but I won’t risk my sparkling’s wellbeing for my own foolish pride,” Radiant said shortly, and dashed impatiently at her optics with her free hand. “It’s one more thing on that spiteful _glitch_ of an heir’s head...sorry, dear.”

Nightlight shook his head wordlessly, vocaliser stoppered and glossa disabled as effectively by Radiant’s words as they would have been by a medic. He reached for Radiant’s free hand and she gave it without hesitation, only sighing when he bowed his head and pressed it to his cheek. “Nightlight, darling, nothing of what he does is your fault, and I reserve the right to be friends with whomever I please. I could just have easily chosen not to be part of our odd little coterie right at the beginning, you know, but I chose my family. And it _was_ my choice, thank you so much. I’ll not have that taken away.”

“I’m grateful you chose us,” Nightlight managed, and smiled. Radiant smiled back at him and tugged him closer into a hug. “We’ll stay with you, I promise. You won’t face this alone.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Radiant assured him. “Now, where is Dashlet? I haven’t had my hug from him yet.”

Dash was duly ushered in, hugged until he squeaked and had it explained - in simple terms - what was going on with Radiant and her lillun. Dash was fascinated by the idea of a sparkling developing out where people could see, and begged to be allowed to see for himself; laughing, Radiant agreed.

“I’m glad we came to Praxus,” Dash said thoughtfully as Nightlight led him home, Bubblebomb and Safeguard following with Bubblebomb’s pair of sparklings.

Nightight’s spark fluttered. “Are you?”

“Now that everyone’s here.” Dash swung their hands gently. “All our family, and no cousins. I think that’s best.”

Nightlight pressed his free hand to his cockpit, blinking back tears. “Yes - you’re right, sweetest. I think it’s best too.”

Dash grinned up at him. “Also the ramps are brilliant.”

“Are they now?” Nightlight chuckled, eyeing a nearby ramp meaningfully. “Go on then.”

Dash shrieked with delight and raced up the ramp.

*

Life was good, for a while. Life was _quiet_ for a little longer, as Thundersong slowly began to find work with the performers and artists of Praxus and Skydance merrily threw himself into working with every media he could find. Nightlight went through Dash’s lessons with him, along with Shimmersea’s twins - Tempo’s sparklings were barely old enough to toddle, but they loved music just like their carrier and caretakers, and Night was quietly sure that he'd be teaching them in turn if they didn't find another tutor by the time they were older. Night doubted that Dash would ever truly want to perform like ‘Song, but he certainly wasn’t about to clip his little one’s wings or curb his enthusiasm.

“We’ll run through your scales one more time,” he told his attentive little trio, “then we’ll do something fun for all three of you. How does that sound?”

“Me first, me first!” Dash bounced, and since it really _was_ his turn to go first of the three, Nightlight smiled fondly and gestured him forward into the middle of their little circle. The young one beamed, settled his pedes carefully and straightened his posture, and watched his carrier for his cue - Nightlight’s hand swayed, back-forth-back and _now,_ and Dash’s unselfconscious young voice chirped out a rising scale in perfect time. He wasn’t quite in tune, and Nightlight held the notes for him to match until Dash could run up and down the notes as easily as he rolled down Praxus’ ramps. Dusk and Dawn followed along behind, a little older than Dash and well-versed in the scales already - they were still figuring out what carried over from their previous lessons to what Nightlight had been teaching Dash, and if there was some crossover at least it made things interesting for them all.

“Well done, sweetbits. That was lovely!” Nightlight had to pause then, with three enthusiastic younglings hopping into the air for hugs with Dash in the lead. He laughed and cuddled them all close, easing carefully back onto the berth in the little room they had co-opted for a practise room. It was small, but the acoustics were perfect, and with the adult Vosians recovered enough to explore Praxus, find work and try to recover a new normal, it went unused long enough for lessons. “You’re all coming along beautifully, so now we’re going to practise working together. Harmonising isn’t a competition - you have to pay attention to the people you’re singing with, make sure you can keep your part of the harmony strong without drowning the others, so you make a perfect whole. It’s a lot like being family, in a way.”

Dash grinned at Dawn and Dusk, easily responding to that metaphor. “I’m ready.”

“How do we all know what to sing?” Dawn asked.

“I’ll give you the note.” Nightlight hummed a note for her, then for Dusk, then for Dash. “Everyone got it? Okay - now everyone sing your note on my mark.”

Back, forth, back, _now,_ and the three of them each sang their note - surprising themselves, and each other, when the notes resonated beautifully with each other. “Oh, well done!” Nightlight declared, clapping his hands as the little ones stared at each other open-mouthed. “See how lovely that is when you work together?”

The twins each gripped Dash’s hand, almost vibrating in eagerness. “Wanna do it again!” Dawn demanded.

“All right, one more time.” Nightlight cued them again, and - oh dear, Dash was slipping out of tune again, but that was easily corrected. “There, much better,” he nodded. “Now, would you like to try something more complicated?”

“Yeah!” The younglings bounced eagerly. Nightlight chuckled, his smile only fading when there was a tap against the frame of the open door. “All right, lovelies, one moment.”

Leaning against the doorframe was Lifter, grinning broadly. “Hey, Night,” ei greeted. “Hey, lilbits - won’t be a second. Night, the priests say that building is almost done renovating, and they want us to give it a look-over before they send the work crews home. You wanna go yourself, or send someone on your behalf?”

“Oh! Wonderful, they’re early! Ah...” Nightlight glanced back into the room; three sets of eager optics shone back up at him. “...oh, well. Little ones, I know we’re a little early to finish our lesson today, but how would you like to visit-”

“Yesyesyes! _Please!_ ”

Lifter chuckled, and Nightlight gave eir an embarrassed smile. “We’d love to come and see it. Let me just tell Shimmersea where we’re going.”

Shimmersea had no objections to her little ones going on an outing; the building renovations had started shortly after Nightlight’s...instructional meeting with Lacewing, and since the arrival of the other Exiles the Praxian priests had enthusiastically made use of the planners and builders in their midst. The building had been more or less gutted by the time they arrived, and Countdown, Lightstorm, Lifter and occasionally Caldera all piled in to add Vosian influences to the building before it could be rebuilt in the typical Praxian style. 

As they drew closer to the artist’s quarter the Temple road arced around in a gentle curve that split off into markets and side-streets. This time, however, the youngest Vosians couldn’t be distracted (much) by the bustle and intrigue of the stalls; they tugged on Nightlight’s and Lifter’s hands as Safeguard led the way into the fractal curve of a side-street not too far from Dash’s favourite park.

The difference in the building already was astonishing. Nightlight shuttered his optics briefly as they stung; soaring pillars framed openings tall and wide enough for a fully-grown Vosian to fly through with ease, and Caldera glanced up from a portable forge long enough to wave at them before turning back to crafting more of the intricate shutters that already hung from one of the upper-floor doors. It was close enough to what he still felt was _home_ that his spark ached, but it was a hurt that cleansed even as it pained him.

“Good as you hoped?” Lifter rumbled quietly; Nightlight glanced up at the larger flier and smiled.

“Better, I think. Can we look inside?”

“Yep. They gave us all keycards - this way.” Lifter led them up the walk to the single street-level entrance, the little ones scampering ahead of Nightlight in their eagerness. The door slid open, and Nightlight couldn’t help his spark fluttering.

It was still very Praxian in construction: each apartment’s rooms spiralled inward to a central sleeping area, airy and spacious but not as open to the sky as a Vosian tower, and the apartment buildings themselves spiralled out along the street like lace unfolding. The series of buildings had only small, sealed-closed viewports along the back wall, but the front of the buildings that faced out onto the street - _their_ street - were lined with balconies and open to the sky. After the temple quarters, which didn’t even have windows, it was like a weight taken off Nightlight’s spark. He trailed after Lifter and the little ones to the upper floors, taking in as much as he could - the bright, open hallways, the full-height stairwell that was just perfect for fliers and groundframes alike.

It was lovely, and all too easy to picture himself and his family living here.

“Look, Carrier!” Dash leaned far out of the broad window on the main hallway, beaming. “Doesn’t the wind feel nice?”

Nightlight moved to join him, smiling. “It certainly does. Do you like this place?”

“Yeah.” Dash lifted off on his repulsors, hovering out over the balcony, and Nightlight moved to watch over his little one. If he fell, Dash’s repulsors were strong enough that he wouldn’t hurt himself, but he wouldn’t be able to hold himself up so high and would wind up all the way down at street level again. “Know what? This could be home.”

“It’s not got fly-bys like Vos does.” Dawn hopped out to join them, Dusk behind her. “Other than that it’s a lot better. Look how empty the sky is. It’s like the Praxians were saving it just for us.”

Remembering Lacewing, Nightlight chuckled. “We’re not the only Vosians in Praxus, bit, but it’s certainly less crowded up there.”

As though reading his processor, Dash dropped to sit himself on the balcony railing and peered up at his carrier. “Do you think the gearbug lady might want to move in too? She’s got an even littler bit to look after and she’s kinda...um. Distracted?”

Nightlight blinked, then tilted his head and considered it thoughtfully. “I think we’d need to ask everyone else first, bit. We’re the only ones who’ve met them, you know. And she might already have family of her own that she’s living with, they might not want to move.”

Dawn wrinkled her nose at _that._ “But this is the best building in the whole city now!” she protested. “It’s got proper windows and everything!”

“Well, yes, but groundframes without antigravs can’t fly, remember. They need their windows near the floor so they can reach them,” Nightlight reminded her gently, glancing at both twins to make sure they heard. Small pedes swung as Dash shrugged at their matching sighs.

“We know, we do, but it’s still nicer having them big,” Dusk said, her hand curling around her sister’s. Dawn squeezed her hand and Dusk returned the gesture, Nightlight smiling at them both before looking back to Dash.

“Either way, yes, it is a lovely building, and Dash is very thoughtful to think of Lacewing and Buglet. We could always ask the priests if there are other Vosians living in the city and meet them, but it would be up to them if they wanted to move, and we should agree it with everyone else if we’re going to be sharing space.”

“Buglet?” Dusk questioned.

“That’s her little sparkling,” Dash explained, and held his hands apart. “He’s only this big!”

Nightlight had to laugh at the twins’ amazed expressions. “You two were just that little once. And so was Dash,” he said to their disbelieving faces. “I’m sure there are pictures, you know, I’ll have to see if I can find some.”

“No thanks!” Dash yelped, and wiggled down to the floor instead to find some kind distraction, the twins hot on his heels. Nightlight chuckled and let them go.

*

Over the next few cycles everyone got to tour the new building, but Nightlight was talking with the builders the very next cycle to finalise things. They seemed startled at how quickly the Vosians wanted to move in.

“Give us a decacycle to get the windows installed,” the foremech told him, tapping at his datapad. “Praxian code says the building has to be weatherproof.”

“But the windows are there already,” Nightlight said, sorely confused. “We saw them.”

The foremech blinked. “Someone already got the glass panes installed? But they’re supposed to be on backorder.”

“...what glass panes?”

“Uh.” The foremech had the sort of expression that suggested he wasn’t sure whether or not Nightlight was trying to prank him, and Nightlight couldn’t for the life of him imagine why. “Transparisteel panels? Windows? Viewports for buildings, you know.”

“I’m- not entirely sure what we need them for,” Nightlight said faintly. “I saw the windows in the Temple were sealed, but I thought- well, I assumed there was some kind of religious significance and I didn’t want to be rude.”

The foremech had visibly reached the point of ‘I am listening to the words you are saying and they are still failing to translate’. The expression on his face reminded Nightlight uncomfortably of Sunfire and his fingers wound together without his conscious control. “If it’s the rain that’s a concern, Caldera is already forging shutters for the windows,” he offered up, and the foremech reset his optics.

“You mean the doors the big jet’s welding together?”

“...I mean shutters for the windows,” Nightlight repeated, by now horribly confused. “She’s making them for the ones that lead out to the street.”

“So for the big windows and the doors,” the foremech said, and Nightlight shook his head.

“No, the doors are fine. They’re not going to be exposed to the weather inside...”

He trailed off, and both mechs stared at each other.

“I think we found another cultural difference,” Nightlight said a little timidly, and the foremech snorted out a laugh.

“No kidding. All right, how about you tell me what you need and we’ll work around the regs. Last thing you guys want is acid rain dissolving the nice new building around your audials.”

“That would be much easier, thank you.”

*

It was not the end of the confusion. By the time Nightlight had communicated to everybody that ‘door’ in Praxus also meant the windows through which groundframes entered buildings, not just the entryways from one interior space to another, the foremech had communicated to his associates that Vosians used “window” to mean all openings on the outside of a building. Hence, instead of the Vosians simply adhering to the Praxian standard or vice versa, each conversation had to define its terms, sometimes mid-stream. It made for a high potential for misunderstandings and talking at cross-purposes.

Confusion also ensued when Nightlight went to discuss finances with the Praxian elders. “I’d like to pay off the renovations in a lump sum, if I could,” he said politely.

Elder Counterpoint blinked owlishly. “That’s not a bad idea. If you pay off part of the renovations now, the interest rates on the rest-”

“I didn’t mean part of it,” Nightlight interrupted firmly. “I meant all of it.”

Counterpoint took the credit chit Nightlight offered, and his optics widened as he processed it. “Well, I’ll be a scrap wagon. Are you sure?”

“It’s only credits.” Nightlight shrugged. “I’ve been sitting on it for a long time. It’s time to do something useful with it.”

Counterpoint smiled, slow and knowing. “Well said, young mech, well said,” he told him, and Nightlight’s spark gave a pleased flutter.

“There’s one other thing I wanted to discuss,” he said, emboldened by the elder’s approval. “Would it be permissible for us to put on a sort of art show?”

“Art show?”

“Well, we are more or less descending on Praxus as a coherent wing,” Nightlight explained, trying not to feel foolish as the elder’s optic ridges raised. “My trine might have been out and about for a while now, but there are suddenly so many more of us - a lot of our family are artists, and we were thinking it would be more friendly to show the Praxian artists what we can do and, well, sort of invite collaborations rather than have it seem like we’re trying to steal their thunder. We want to fit in here, not cause trouble.”

Counterpoint smiled again, warmer this time. “That sounds like a plan the Temple can get behind. Where were you thinking of holding it?”

“We weren’t sure,” Nightlight admitted. “We’ve seen the market stalls and the galleries, of course we have, but we were hoping for something a little more...informal. We want people to come and _talk_ to us, especially for the sparklings’ sake. It’s not all about networking.”

“It might be for your artists, but - not for you, no. I can see that.” The elder considered it, tilting his head. “Why not in the street itself? None of us can fly like you, so your homes would be kept private if you locked the street door.”

Nightlight brightened. “That could work! Would we need any kind of permits or permissions? I know the whole street is being renovated, but we only have the one building.”

The elder laughed. “Nightlight, my dear young mech, with the chit you just gave me you _could_ buy the whole street, and the renovations as well! If you wanted to throw an art show for Praxus, the Temple will gladly pass the word along.”

“I could?” Nightlight froze for a moment, optics wide and shock coursing through his lines like coolant. Panic rose as his first reaction, something he doubted he’d ever be able to change, but - if he thought about it as calmly as possible - what made this so different from renting out the Exile’s Tower in Vos? If he could buy this little side-street there would always be a safe place in Praxus that no-one could take away - not the Highest Family, not even the Temple, no-one. They would always have somewhere safe for themselves and anyone else that had to flee Vos. Their sparklings would have somewhere to play without needing to hide. He reset his optics, blinking down at the elder waiting with a patient smile for his reply. “If I did - if I _did_ buy the rest of the buildings - would that be all right? I’d assumed we would be renting from the Temple, I don’t want to break any cultural rules...”

Counterpoint chuckled again, reaching up to rest a companionable hand lightly against Nightlight’s back as he led the flier over to the meeting room’s table. “Many Praxians prefer to rent rather than buy for the freedom of it, but that doesn’t mean you can’t buy the land and the buildings on it. Maybe it’ll help your little ones feel better about being somewhere new, hmm?”

Nightlight’s field flushed with sheepish crackles of static. “The little ones. Yes. Um - well, in that case, what do I need to do?”

*

Nightlight returned home in a daze, barely feeling the street under his pedes. The scent of energon treats setting hit him hard as he came through the door, and he smiled as Dash poked his head out of the dispensary room. “Well, aren’t we productive today,” he beamed.

“‘Song says five hundred astroseconds,” Dash reported importantly as Nightlight bent to sweep him up in his arms.

“Mmm. I didn’t think ‘Song would be back so early.”

“He said every decacycle the Praxians take a day off, and tomorrow’s the day off for the music group he’s been singing with so everyone went home a little early.” Dash shrugged, less interested in the Praxian work week than he was in Thundersong spending time with him.

“Well, I’m not complaining.” Nightlight carried his little one into the dispensary again. “Thundersong, Skydance? I may have lost my head a little and I need you to help me screw it back on again.”

“Is Radiant all right?” Thundersong asked immediately, grabbing a rag to wipe his hands free of cobalt dust. Skydance skipped that step entirely to hug Nightlight, squidging Dash in between them.

“Oh - she’s fine. Resting comfortably.” Nightlight leaned into Skydance’s arms. “It’s just, I may have bought up the street.”

There was a brief, incredulous pause, then Skydance laughed. “Okay, y’got me. What is it really?”

“That’s it, really.” Nightlight let all of his excitement-shock-disbelief fizzle into his field more strongly, and felt more than heard Thundersong bolt upright quickly enough that his trinemate’s wings quivered. “I offered what I thought was reasonable for the building and the renovations and, well...”

“...Praxian exchange rate strikes again,” Skydance said faintly, then his knees gave way. Nightlight let out a high-pitched noise that made the crystal display in the living quarters ring, but before he could lose his grip on Skydance entirely Thundersong was there at ‘Dance’s back, holding him up and supporting all four of them. 

“Slag me,” Skydance breathed, his optics flickering. “You rich mechs really don’t frag around.”

“‘Dance!” Nightlight scolded, glancing quickly down at Dash where his sparkling clung between them, then let it go. “...I’m sorry, I don’t mean to flaunt- well, anything at all, I just - I need us to be _safe._ If we own the building, if we own the metal it’s built on, nobody can take it away. And - well - when the elder said it, I thought he was joking, but we have so much space now that if there are any more refugees from Vos we can _support_ them, and I can stay here looking after the little ones...”

“Night,” Thundersong interrupted, his rich voice gentle but undeniable. “You don’t have to stay behind with the bits. You’ve got training, you can go and do anything you want and no-one will stop you. You can go to one of the Academies if you wanted. You’ve got the choice now, remember?”

“Carrier?” Dash asked hen Nightlight hesitated, blue optics all too perceptive and all too sensitive to others’ fields. “Did you stop doing stuff ‘cause you were looking after me?”

“ _No,_ ” Nightlight breathed, horrified, and cuddled him close. “No, sweetest, all I wanted in the world was to be able to watch you grow up and look after you! This... This means I can do that, _keep_ doing that, just like before.” He lifted his head and gave Thundersong a sharp look, optics narrowing slightly, and he spoke to them both as he continued. “If I want to do anything else, it _will_ be my decision, but you will _always_ come first.”

Thundersong lowered his head, silent apology and acknowledgement, as Dash hugged his carrier fiercely. “I think you should do whatever you want,” he said, his perfect faith in his carrier shining through his voice. “Because you’ve got the biggest spark in the world, and you take care of everyone, not just me an’ the other bits. I bet you could take care of the whole planet!” He stretched his arms out wide, beaming.

Nightlight hugged him tight, laughing. “Surely not the whole planet, but I’ll do my best,” he assured his little one. “Sweetest bit.” Dash giggled against his shoulder.

Chuckling, Skydance squidged them both. “I’d better tell the others. We’ve got the biggest art show ever to plan! ...well. For other people to plan,” he added shamelessly. “I’ll just find a corner and paint like crazy. I know my strengths.”

“You make good goodies,” Dash pointed out, all innocence. Skydance promptly pounced to tickle him until he squealed.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the local Vosians throw open their - er, street to Praxus, Radiant impresses the heck out of the local yarn tribe as the art festival goes ahead, Dash makes friends everywhere he goes and the Praxian elders ask Nightlight for a favour. Night...is not enthused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings here, guys - this chapter and the next one are going to be a bit rough on Night's emotional state. Poor Nightlight's going to go through a panic attack in front of an authority figure in this chapter and the next one. (Don't worry, we'll warn you again next time too.)

It took time for the Vosian artists to start working again, to find suppliers for the materials they needed and to replace or craft the tools that some had had to sell back in Vos. Caldera had agreed to smelt steelsilk for Radiant if the other flier could share the composition, and Radiant had no objections to passing on her methods if it meant she had something to do with her hands as she sat by her little one’s pod. Caldera passed on links of scarlet and platinum and rich blue; banners poured from Radiant’s hands, pennants coiling at her pedes. She worked in patterns of clouds in atmosphere and the fractal lace of Praxian architecture, thin ribbons of colour to hang in windows, woven strands of metal to spin in the light Praxus breeze; tokens of allegiance and cities combining. Rainbows flew from her fingertips and chimed delicately on the floor, her field wrapped around the tiny form growing a little stronger day by day, and smiled determinedly as her family flowed through her doors.

“Well, I might not know if I’ll be coming to the actual show, but I certainly want something to be _on_ show, darling.”

Bubblebomb nodded, and leaned in to nuzzle Radiant’s cheek. “Sure thing, Radiant. Leave it to me, I’ll get everything set up.”

The other femme was as good as her word - between them, Bubblebomb and Resonance arranged and re-arranged Radiant’s work both on hangers and over a polished-up table, hung pennants and streamers from the windows, and made sure that someone would always be able to mind the stall and answer questions when Resonance was checking in with his sibling. It would be a long time before Radiant’s little one would be able to leave the support of the medbay, and until then she was fiercely protective of the little pod and reluctant to leave it, but her pride as an artisan and her potential standing in the local art community tugged at her spark - as compromises went, this was the option she felt the least uneasy about.

“All right,” Nightlight announced, scrolling down a checklist that only seemed to get longer as time passed. “Radiant’s sent over another box of pennants, Caldera’s temp forge has the protective screen up in case of younglings and Aurora’s going to be covering Radiant’s stall as well as her own when Resonance needs to take a break. Catena’s going to mind Caldera’s work and trade off with Aurora, Shimmersea and I will be the central point for lost sparklings and questions, Lifter and Lightstorm are minding the very tiny ones indoors, Fly-by-Night is on security with Safeguard and co-ordinating with any enforcer-priests if they’re needed, Flyaway’s trine is on goodies and refuelling, and everyone else will be mobile and performing along the edges of the street.” He glanced up after his recitation, optics flicking across faces lit up with excitement and anticipation. “Did I miss anything?”

“Rocket’s scheduled display flight,” Thundersong said. “The cloud-seeder trine’s flying with her.”

Nightlight noted it down. “Of course. Just the one flight?”

“The main one’s at shift four - I think they’re doing little mini-flights from shifts one through three, to drum up excitement for the main one. Depends on the little ones, though.”

“Mmm.” Nightlight tapped his chin with the stylus. “What about Bubblebomb? Wasn’t she going to do some of her paintings?”

“She gave them to Skydance to sell for her. She’s kind of managing the booths overall.” Thundersong chuckled. “I think she’s enjoying the responsibility. Makes a change, being the boss rather than the bossed-around.”

“I’m sure she’ll be wonderful,” Nightlight said firmly. “Good for her. ...And you’ll be all right on your own, won’t you?”

“Of course, but I won’t be alone the whole time.” Thundersong smiled warmly. “Dash, Dawn and Dusk are singing with me for part of the day, after all.”

Nightlight tried not to visibly melt, but wasn’t sure how well he’d succeeded when Thundersong’s smile widened. “Oh, well, of course you’ll be fine, then.”

“Yeah.” Thundersong hesitated, then stepped forward to offer a hug that Nightlight readily accepted. “Sorry for pushing,” he said quietly, and Nightlight nuzzled his cheek.

“It’s all right. I know why you do. It’s just that - I really did mean it when I said I wanted to concentrate on raising Dash. _That’s_ what I really want to do, certainly right now. When he’s older...maybe I’ll consider something else, but for the moment, I don’t _have_ to. I’m incredibly lucky to be able to focus on him, and I don’t want to waste it.”

“Not when he’s getting bigger so fast,” Thundersong murmured back with a wry smile, and Nightlight hugged him again in relief. “I get it. I won’t say anything else about it.”

“You won’t have time, if you’re going to be the most famous Vosian vocal artist in Praxus,” Nightlight teased, and Thundersong groaned out loud with an exaggerated droop of his wings.

“Don’t remind me!”

Nightlight laughed, and the subject was finally forgotten.

*

The street was full of people. Nightlight leaned out of the window to get a better look, spark thrilling to see his family mingling peacefully with the Praxians. Radiant’s banners flew in the breeze, joyful and defiant, a ringing cry of freedom wrought in steelsilk, or so it seemed to Nightlight’s leaping spark.

Aurora glanced up from her booth and waved; Nightlight stepped through and floated down to her, receiving a hug in greeting. “Hello, dearspark! How is business?”

“Steady,” Aurora grinned. “More importantly, we’ve got queries for collaboration just rolling in. Radiant’s going to fall over with how much they love her work.”

Nightlight laughed and squeezed her hands. “Thank you again for looking after her booth...” He paused and moved aside to let a couple of Praxians get by him to look more closely at Radiant’s wares, curious fingers reaching out to feel its texture.

“Amazing,” ei commented. “I love these patterns.”

“Oh! Those are windspeaker motifs.” Aurora moved past Nightlight to talk to her visitor, and Nightlight smiled and let her work. Aurora knew what she was doing.

His chronometer beeped, and Nightlight wandered off purposefully. It was almost time for Thundersong and the bitlets to perform, and that was sure to bring the crowds to a standstill.

The performers in their family had spread themselves out along the sides of the street, deliberately spacing themselves out away from the stalls to make sure there was enough room for everyone to manoeuvre. Bubblebomb was acting as combined co-ordinator and street performer, summoning up tiny bubbles of light and colour and juggling them, to the delight of the crowd, and cheerily directing their guests to interesting stalls; up until now Thundersong had been doing much the same, moving through the crowds answering questions and helping with Skydance’s stall. Now the time had come for his own time in the spotlight, he met his fellow performers at his chosen stage - halfway down the street on the outer edge of the curve, the better for them all to be heard.

“Okay, bits,” he said encouragingly, kneeling to their level; Dash was practically vibrating in place, Dawn and Dusk clinging to each others’ hands and beaming. “Just like we practised. I’ll start us off, then you come in on cue. Got your notes?”

Dawn and Dusk immediately let out sweet, bell-like chimes, perfectly in tune and in synch with each other; Dash chirped “Yes!” at the top of his bounce, then scrambled to do the same, all eagerness.

“Perfect,” Thundersong grinned. He nudged their cheeks with his own one after the other, little arms thrown around his neck and hugging tight. “Luck!”

“Luck,” the sparklings chorused back, and Thundersong stood to his full height. He flared his wings, gave a testing rumble-chirp of his vocaliser - old habit, after spending the cycle thus far talking - and lifted his voice to the sky. A warm, smooth tenor note that drew attention, turned the Praxians’ heads to him with smiles on their faces, and then their optics began to widen as Thundersong began harmonising. In Vos he had been the darling of Sunset Gate, renowned for being able to easily split his voice into harmonies more complex than any other singer - he’d been tested for Sigma abilities, but Thundersong knew it was lucky talent and training that kept him singing. His song rose and fell, fracturing into three, then four, then six-part harmony with himself as a murmur went through the gathered Praxians and the crowd began to turn towards them. He could see Skydance grinning, broad and bright and proud, and poured his spark into every note.

They had a good solid crowd now - Praxians with their distinctive winglets, a variety of other groundframes, even a few fliers, all gathered around him with their attention well and truly caught. Thundersong smiled and lifted a hand, and the little ones vented with excitement, their optics bright and fixed on his gestures. _One,_ he motioned, _two, one, now._

Little vocalizers could only produce one note at a time, but the little trine sang with one voice, confident and joyful. _//Good!//_ Thundersong pinged, effusive in his pride, and Dash caught his optic and beamed. _//Get ready, the big finale’s coming. One, two-//_

Thundersong’s voice dropped, providing a low, steady backdrop to let the little one’s voices _shine._ He heard the crowd gasp as Dash, Dawn and Dusk sang their best, hand in hand.

He saw Nightwing in the crowd, towering over the Praxians, hands pressed to his mouth and optics shimmering as he smiled helplessly. Shimmersea was standing at the opposite edge of the street, telling the hauler-class beside her _those are my little ones, don’t they sound wonderful?_ They certainly did, if the broad smiles on the audience’s faces were any indication.

The song ended, Thundersong’s voice holding up the little ones’ until they ran out of note to sing. Dash immediately turned and leaped into Thundersong’s arms with a wild laugh, and Thundersong swept up the twins to cuddle them too.

“I have never been more proud to sing in concert than I am with you,” he told them. All three clung to him, laughing out loud with their fields full of triumphant joy, burning ever more brightly as the surrounding crowd burst into applause.

*

“I’m so proud of you,” Nightlight murmured softly, and Dash beamed sleepily at his carrier as he finally drifted off into recharge. It had been a long few cycles for everyone, and the last, most determined networking Vosians were still out in the street chatting to the Praxian artists; for his part, Nightlight had helped with the clean-up and gracefully bowed out to settle Dashlet down to recharge. Practise and lessons on manners and deportment had helped with remembering all the names and faces and fields he’d been introduced to today, but his processor was humming and heavy with the need to recharge himself and sort it all into long-term storage. Despite that...his spark was light. It had been a wonderful day for his family, and Radiant especially had made quite the arrival on the artistic scene, despite not being able to make it in person. Resonance must be having a wonderful time telling her...

Nightlight leaned in to nuzzle softly against Dash’s cheek, then padded away from the little hammock to the berthroom door. He should probably catch up with Safeguard and Fly-by-Night about security during the show - it had all seemed to run smoothly, but that didn’t mean things hadn’t been going on behind the scenes. The artist contingent were still chatting outside, but the others might like a cube before finding their own berths - it would be nice to be able to talk over how the show went from everyone else’s perspectives.

Tired but content, Nightlight wandered off to find the rest of his family.

*

Nightlight’s vocaliser clicked, staring at the priest looking serenely back at him over the comm. “Now?” he squeaked, Safeguard hovering protectively at his shoulder. Elder Blackcoat nodded gravely, her expression far too calm for Nightlight’s assessment of the situation.

“We have been able to arrange a diplomatic envoy to Iacon and the meeting with the Prime,” she confirmed, and Nightlight’s tank lurched. “I apologise for the wait, but the Iaconian officials like to take their time debating such things, it seems. Besides, it seems as though your art show has been a roaring success - your family will be busy in your absence, and have income of their own coming in to reassure them.”

 _It doesn’t reassure_ me _very much,_ Nightlight thought hysterically, then reset his vocaliser before it could squeak again. “But - why do you want me to go? I’m not - I’m nobody important.”

_And that’s just how I wanted it!_

“You were a member of the Vosian ruling family,” Blackcoat answered. “You can offer insight into their world that no one else can. Believe me, Nightlight, your knowledge is infinitely valuable to us now, with Starscream arming Vos for the war he appears to want so badly.”

Nightlight lowered his head to hide his wince. What did his aft of a brother - and yes, Bubblebomb and Radiant were rubbing off on him - what did he think he was doing? How many more lives would he ruin in the process? “I can’t tell you why Starscream is doing what he’s doing,” he said. “I never understood him.”

“But you can help the Prime and his diplomatic team learn how to best deal with the Highest Family,” Blackcoat argued gently. “And how to connect with Vosians in general.” Nightlight winced again. “I won’t ask for anything you’re not comfortable with. You won’t be compelled to give up Vos’s secrets. Just help us _reach_ Vos before the trouble Starscream’s brewing overflows.”

“I agreed to pass on information from my family, not- not definitely leave my family behind to meet a Prime,” Nightlight tried, but his spark sank all the same. “Wouldn’t a comm-?”

“Likely not, with the layers of security around him - and the risk of eavesdroppers in Iacon,” Blackcoat said; it could have been Nightlight’s imagination, but she sounded genuinely regretful. “I know you’ve only been in Praxus for a few lunar cycles, and we do want you to feel safe here, but you don’t know the political situation. Things are getting worse all too quickly. If Iacon doesn’t reach out to Vos, soon, it may be too late.”

Nightlight’s spark almost stopped spinning entirely. He shut off his optics, fingers digging into the arms of his chair; Safeguard’s vents hissed behind him, the only sign that his bodyguard was as disturbed as he was. All he could see in the darkness without his optical input were flights of warriors, pouring out of Vos with all the Sigma abilities that Starscream could twist into weapons...

Starscream and his army descending on Praxus. Starscream, who had dangled Dash out of a window when he was only cycles old.

“All right,” he said in a voice that barely cracked above being a whisper. “All right. I’ll go. He has to stop.”

“Thank you,” Blackcoat breathed, and this time Nightlight knew he wasn’t imagining the relief in her voice.

*

“NO!”

“They can’t ask you to-”

“Surely they’ll have to listen-”

“-Nightlight, you-”

“Please!” Nightlight hunched his shoulders, the much-loved voices battering his composure to nothing. “Please, everyone, I can’t handle much more of this. The Prime needs information from us, or Starscream will start a war!”

Silence fell, and Nightlight’s optics brightened to see furious tears rising in his sparkling’s optics as Dash stood in the doorway.

He knelt, and Dash ran to him, clutching at his plating like he wanted to carry his Carrier to his toy chest and hide him inside for safekeeping. “No,” he insisted, tears spilling over an angry little face. “No! Don’t go, Carrier, you don’t have to! They can’t make you, cousins can’t make you!”

“I think the cousins would prefer it if I didn’t go,” Nightlight pointed out weakly, his nose pressed to Dash’s cheek. “Sparklet, this isn’t - this isn’t like the cousins making me do things. The temple elders want me to help them, but they’re not making me.”

Dash growled and shook his head, not at all convinced. “You said it’s _your decision_ to do anything besides look after me,” he said rebelliously. “You _said.”_

“I know, but - that doesn’t mean I won’t have to things that are frightening to me, sometimes.” Nightlight pulled back to look into his little one’s optics, wiping his face dry. “That’s what I did when I brought us here to Praxus, remember? I was frightened, but it was the right thing to do, so I had to have courage and do it.”

Dash just sniffled. “What’s courage?”

 _Oh, sparkling,_ Nightlight thought, pangs of guilt twisting through his spark. “Courage is when you do something important, even though you might feel afraid to or like it’s too difficult for you. Sometimes you do it to help others, sometimes it’s just to get something you really want for yourself. I - I don’t have a lot of courage, I’m afraid, but when we came to Praxus I had to be brave because if I didn’t, something awful might have happened to you.” Nightlight stroked his helm. “Now… now I think I must have courage again.”

Dash’s face screwed up, still not entirely convinced for all that he’d managed to hold back his tears as his Carrier spoke. “I don’t want you being sad because of me!” he wailed, and Nightlight’s spark contracted.

“Oh, Dashlet, no - you’re my little one, you’re the dearest spark in my whole world - I’d do anything to keep you safe, no matter what.” He stroked Dash’s face again, and small hands clung onto his. “Because I love you. I love you _so much_. And I’m going to make sure the world is a better place any way I can, so it will better for you _and_ the rest of our family to live in. I have to. ...I mean. It’s something important enough that I can bear being sad and being scared for a little while, because it’ll be worth it in the end. Does that make sense?”

Dash sniffled again, but nodded very reluctantly and burrowed into Nightlight’s canopy with single-minded determination. Nightlight let out a long, shuddering exvent and cuddled him close, head bowed over his sparkling, and flicked his wings before realising the pedefalls coming closer were Shimmersea’s.

“If it’s a diplomatic mission,” she said softly, her optics hard and determined, “I’m coming along. The twins will be company for Dash if they want to come with us.”

“Shimmer-”

“Unless you think it will be actively dangerous for the three of us to join you, then I at least will come with you,” she said firmly. “I can act as representative for those of us outside of the Highest Family, and I know enough of society manners to support you. ...I mean no offence,” she added as Skydance and Thundersong knelt around Nightlight and his sniffling sparkling, their arms wrapping around them and holding on close.

“None taken,” Thundersong said firmly, and Skydance rested his forehelm between Nightlight’s wings. “The support would be appreciated anyway.”

“Then it’s settled. You’re not going alone, Nightlight, and Safeguard can watch over you just as easily with us there as without us.”

“Fly-by-Night may wish to come as well,” Safeguard added quietly, and Nightlight hid a wobbly smile - Fly-by-Night had finally convinced Safeguard to stop calling him Director. “He also has insight into Vos’s Highest Family that would be helpful. That will make six adults - a half-wing - and four little ones.”

“A respectable envoy,” Thundersong added with a wan smile. In their arms, Dash squirmed a little - he’d been spending a lot of time with Dawn and Dusk for their singing lessons, but Haze was still his best friend and it would be good to spend time with hir too. Thundersong stroked his helm, soothing him again. “And the rest will be able to look after each other and keep busy with managing our building.”

“Iacon,” Skydance said musingly. “What’s it like, ‘Song? All I’ve heard is that it’s boring.”

“It’s not, but the culture is highly stratified and the enforcers are more concerned with suppressing labor unrest than - well, anything else, really. I’ve heard of an underground art scene, but I’ve never seen it myself.” He shrugged carefully. “We’re going to meet the Prime, so it should be safe, at least.”

“Safe for whom is another question entirely,” Fly-by-Night said; Nightlight didn’t spend any more emotional credits on being surprised. Fly-by-Night had been a shadow-of-shadows in Internal Operations - he could teach mechanimals how to creep up on people without a sound. A small body clambered around Thundersong and squirmed insistently into Nightlight’s lap - Haze, intent and determined, Dash wrapping his arms around eir and clinging tightly to his friend. “Iaconian politics are notoriously murky, and most of their Senate is corrupt. The Academies and major resources are run by Senate-affiliated mechs - although that is beginning to change.”

“The new Prime?” Nightlight guessed, his voice a little stronger and a little steadier with his family snuggled in close. “Blackcoat said he - he _descended_ on Iacon. Normally the priests don’t exaggerate, but this time...”

Fly-by-Night’s smile was a thin, satisfied thing, and for all Nightlight trusted him he still shivered down to his spark at the sight. “You might remember the results of the Iaconian Science Academy Council’s investigation into Skyfire’s disappearance,” he told Nightlight, and Night’s arms tightened around Dash until both sparklings in his lap let out indignant squeaks. “All of those councillors were affiliated with one Senator or another, and all of them had a vested interest in driving out a Vosian interloper. All the patents your sibling filed in Iacon were redesignated and handed off to the councillor’s favourites so they could profit from his work.”

“I don’t ever want to know how you know this stuff,” Rocket muttered, and Fly-by-Night inclined his helm mildly to her.

“My point is that while the Prime and some of his followers may be worthy of trust, Iacon itself will not be friendly towards us, and we should all be extremely careful with what we say and who it is said to.”

Nightlight sighed and rubbed his cheek against Dashlet’s little crest in apology. “Just like being back in Vos. At least that much is familiar.”

“The protocols will be entirely different,” Fly-by-Night warned. Nightlight only twitched his wings expressively, resignation in his field as his family muttered their disapproval around him.

“It won’t be the first time of having to learn a new set, and we have the Praxian elders to pass them on. We’ll all have to be on our best behaviour,” he added, mostly for the benefit of the little ones - Skydance nodded along with them, perfectly seriously, and Dash broke into giggles. Nightlight smiled fully for the first time that afternoon, snuggling them close.

“Thank you,” he said more softly, glancing at Shimmersea and Fly-by-Night in turn. Shimmersea inclined her head with a smile and a protectively fond brush of her field, but Fly-by-Night only tapped his mouth with a thoughtful air.

“This should prove to be very useful,” he murmured, and Nightlight bit his lip against a sudden upsurge of dread.

*

At least the trip to Iacon was more comfortable than the trip to Praxus had been.

Diplomatic envoys had their privileges: the entire team rode to Iacon in one of the massive, stately Praxian shuttles that had become a city signature of sorts. It was certainly comfortable, even with ten Vosians and an equal number of Praxians on board, not counting the pilots and guards. To Praxus, diplomacy was serious business.

“Look,” Dash exclaimed as Nightlight went through his briefing packet one more time - Iacon social conventions didn’t seem all that different from Vos’s, but the tiny differences would be enough to (he was increasingly convinced) make him commit the tiny mistake that would ruin the whole mission. Dash, nose pressed to the viewport, had no such worries. “Is that Iacon?”

Legate, the head of their expedition, leaned over to see past Dash’s head. “Yes, that it is,” he confirmed. “That light is from the Towers. What do you think?”

“Pretty,” Dash breathed as Haze joined him at the window. “Hey, Haze, you and I are gonna go flying there one day.”

“Oooooh. _Really_ pretty. ...bet you I can get from one side to the other fastest!”

Legate chuckled and shook his head. “I doubt you’d be able to try racing through the Towers, little ones. The mechs living there are rather - private.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” one of the younger Praxian diplomats muttered, and Fly-by-Night let out a soft snort that had the two sparklings glancing around at the adults in confusion. Nightlight decided the better part of valour was to bury his nose in the briefing packet and pretend he hadn’t heard.

Once the Towers were in sight, it seemed like hardly any time at all passed before the Praxian shuttle was going through what sounded like some particularly stringent landing checks. Skydance had spent the journey wandering between the (ridiculously opulent) passenger section of the shuttle and hanging over the shoulders of the pilots (where he felt more comfortable), and his optic ridges almost hit the edge of his helmet at the protocols being read out.

“Anyone’d think they’ve got something to worry about down there,” he said dryly, ambling back into the passenger compartment - they were finally being allowed to coast into position, and the pilots had politely requested some space to swear off-comm in private. After hearing a little of the snottiness directed their way, Skydance had made a graceful exit to gossip about it with all due haste. “The last time I heard anyone that bossy, Snowstorm was on the warpath about appropriate uses of electrical outlets in the dance tower.”

That got an unwilling splerk from Nightlight, and a more shameless laugh from Shimmersea. “Fireflash was ready to defenestrate the mech. It’s a good thing the head of the guild was there to mediate.”

Thundersong chuckled with them, then perked up as one of the pilots appeared in the corridor to wave them forward. “Ah, looks like we’re clear to disembark.”

The diplomatic team gathered their gear and headed out, the Vosians and their younglings bringing up the rear. There was a bit of a bottleneck getting off the shuttle, which forced Nightlight and Dash to pause just shy of the exit next to an Iaconian official, a sleek groundframe with golden optics whose job seemed to have been waving and bowing the Praxians and their guests out of the transport.

Dash peered up curiously at his first Iaconian. “Hello, I’m Dash. What’s your name?”

The Iaconian blinked, clearly surprised to be addressed at all. “...Quickmarch,” he said, and his optics flickered up to Nightlight’s as if asking if he were doing this ‘talking to sparklings’ thing right. “Welcome to Iacon.”

“Thank you, Quickmarch,” Nightlight said, reassuring him with a smile, and then the way was clear and carrier and sparkling disembarked together, leaving a baffled and oddly charmed Quickmarch behind.

The illustrious streets of Iacon were - well, cut off entirely from the shuttle’s landing pad, as it happened. It seemed that the diplomats and noble visitors to the Senate buildings and Prime’s Compound weren’t all that interested in anything below the glittering view of the Iacon skyline; the four sparklings were less than impressed with the high, solidly opaque handrails, and stubbornly bobbed up on their thrusters to peer out at the city below.

“It’s big,” Dawn observed, jetting alongside her carrier. “There must be a lot of people living here.”

“It’s so _shiny,_ ” Haze murmured in amazement. “Lookit all the lights!”

Dusk, meanwhile, had lost interest in the lights and was looking past them, her hand finding her twin’s and holding on tightly. “I don’t like all the dark places,” she muttered, and refused to say any more. Shimmersea’s arm curled around her middle and Dusk let her carrier draw her close, huddling into Shimmersea’s side. Dash glanced at her, surprised, then looked again - there _were_ an awful lot of very, very dark places, down below where the handrail would have blocked them out. He thought briefly of the long, enclosed trek from Vos to the Tarnian shuttle station, his family trapped down in the underground, and this time a shiver ran down his back.

If that was scary, what was it like to _live_ in the dark?

He tugged at Nightlight’s arm with a growing sense of urgency, his carrier turning to him with a stressed, somewhat distracted smile. “Carrier? Are they going to fix the lights?”

Nightlight looked, and his mouth pursed the way it did when the cousins had done something unpleasant to someone who couldn’t fight back. “I think the new Prime might be starting to,” he said slowly, and then tall, heavily ornamented doors were rising up in front of them and the blinkered glimpse of the city outside was blocked out.

Inside, the long, collonaded receiving room was flooded with light. The Praxians moved in unconscious concert, surrounding the Vosians and their little ones as the lead diplomats took point to greet the sleek and beautiful groundframe-mechs sweeping towards them, capes fluttering behind like Vosian steelsilk wraps. “Daybreak, Regalia, hello,” Legate called, reaching out to clasp their gauntlets in the traditional Iaconian greeting between equals. “Thank you for meeting us.”

“We wouldn’t miss you for the world,” Daybreak assured him warmly. “But come, come! You must be exhausted after the journey; we’ll send for fuel.”

“Actually,” Legate demurred, “a chance to stretch our actuators wouldn’t go amiss. I hear you have a new diode-mural - why don’t you show us? Our Vosian friends are from an artist community, I’m sure they’d appreciate it.”

Daybreak and Regalia’s optics turned to the Vosians then, and Nightlight stiffened his wings before offering a shallow bow. “If it’s not too much trouble, we would love to see it,” he said.

“What’s a diode-mural?” Dash stage-whispered.

Regalia laughed, clapping his hands. “So this is a Vosian youngling! Well, little one, if you’d like to see a fine diode-mural with your own optics, come with us. The Senate’s artists-in-residence are justifiably proud of this one,” he added to the grown mechs. “It depicts Optimus Prime’s ascension.”

“It was a groundbreaking work to complete,” Daybreak smiled, “or so I hear from the artists involved. It’s certainly impressive.”

The pair of them led the envoy through the golden hallways, while Legate peppered them with questions designed to flatter their egos as much as gather information. Soon they were ushered into a wide circular chamber whose walls - Nightlight caught his vents - shimmered and sparkled with the light of thousands of tiny diode lights, which came together in a mosaic to form a masterpiece of sequential art.

Daybreak smiled proudly at his expression, as though she’d created the mural herself. “This is the starting point,” she said, gesturing just to the right of the entrance, “if you want to read the story in order.”

“ _Oooh,_ ” Skydance breathed softly, his optics darting from floor to ceiling and back again. “We’ve got spare walls at home, right?” 

Thundersong chuckled softly, following as Skydance wandered along the mosaic and light danced along the walls. “Yes, Sky, we have spare walls. Maybe the playroom could use a horizon-scape for the little ones going to recharge.”

“You are a genius and I love you.”

‘Song laughed again, and the Iaconian diplomats cast an interested glance their way - something about it made Nightlight uncomfortable, and he stepped casually between them and his trinemates, blocking their view with his wings. “What do you think, Dashlet?” he asked, one hand brushing the edge of Dash’s crest.

“It’s pretty,” Dash said fairly, following the story with his optics as they turned to move along the wall. “But I liked the version you said the priests told you. This one’s kinda...mrf.”

Nightlight had to agree, admittedly. The new Prime was depicted as rising from Iacon itself, an expression of rather smug glory radiating out in the diodes’ light; Optimus Prime was originally from Iacon, true, but Nightlight softly murmured to Dash that he liked the other version better too. “And I’d rather like to see the Protector,” he added. “I’m not sure where he’s supposed to be.”

“The Protector-” and Daybreak’s voice was just shy of putting the word in scare quotes - “isn’t Iaconian, so he wouldn’t be in the mural.” Legate exchanged a brief, telling glance with the other Praxians. “But never mind. It’s just stunning, isn’t it? It took the artisans decacycles to implement the design.”

“Yes, it’s beautiful,” Legate said smoothly, and led Daybreak away with more idle talk. Regalia slid into her place in Legate’s wake, his gold optics calculating.

“You two make an elegant couple,” he said quietly to Thundersong, nodding Skydance’s way.

“Thank you.” Thundersong took Skydance’s hand in his, distracting the other mech from his intent interest in the mural. “So do you and Daybreak.”

“Oh,” Regalia chuckled, “we’re business partners, that’s all. That said, we do keep each other company when we’re working.” His optics took in Skydance slowly, luxuriously. “You two are welcome to join us tonight if you’d like. You haven’t yet experienced the full scope of Iaconian hospitality.”

Nightlight’s vents stuttered audibly; Skydance stared at him like he’d just announced he was a herald of Unicron. Only Thundersong managed to keep a straight face. “Thank you for the offer,” he said graciously, “but Skydance and I are pair-bonded, and it’s not our way to share with any others.”

“It isn’t? But I’d heard, about Vosian trines…” Regalia looked terribly confused. “Well, clearly I’d heard wrong, at least in your case. I meant no offense, of course.”

//Just wanted to imply that they think Vosians will frag anyone who asks,// Skydance transmitted mock-cheerfully. //Aft.//

//Hush, ‘Dance.// “Think nothing of it,” Thundersong said. “I never take offense when a simple ‘no’ is sufficient.”

Regalia’s optics sharpened, and he nodded in understanding. “Of course. No one would think of pressing the issue with our honored guests.”

“Of course.”

//If all the Iaconians are like this, I’ll be spending the rest of our stay here locked in our quarters,// Nightlight sighed over the comm. Skydance snorted softly and squeezed Thundersong’s hand.

//What, incredibly blunt and kinda slimy?//

//Looking for an exotic thrill with no strings attached,// came the reply, with an actual hint of a growl in there. //Not to mention thinking they’re more subtle than they really are.// 

‘Dance shot him a grin, one that Nightlight missed in favour of keeping a close watch on Regalia’s hands. //Eh, maybe we should let the others know we’re apparently the flavour of the cycle here. That was really, really not my thing.//

//...that’s a very good thought. Shimmersea? Did you catch any of that?//

//I certainly did, and I second the motion of being careful. Politics never stays out of the berthroom, younglings.//

//Duly noted,// Thundersong commed dryly, and gave Regalia a practised, impersonal smile as they moved to the next scene of the mural - and Safeguard stepped close enough to loom ever so slightly over the more delicately-built Iaconian. Hint decidedly taken, Regalia took a smooth two steps away from the trine under the pretext of pointing out some detail in the mural to Dash.

“Here, little one, you can see the Towers with the Prime approaching the Senate.”

Dash glanced at it briefly, since Nightlight _had_ insisted on best manners for everyone before they left, then looked away again, apparently intent on finding something else in the mural. “Uh huh.” 

Give the mech credit for at least being persistent, and for figuring out that getting on the sparklings’ side might help his city-state’s cause. “Do you like the pictures? Our artists worked very hard on them.”

Dash tilted his head at that, considering the question with a hint of a frown gathering up his young face. “They’re missing the dark parts. And the Prime’s friend. If they did it on purpose, they might be good at art, but I don’t think I like their reasons.”

Regalia blinked slowly, baffled and trying in vain to keep up with the little one. “I’m sorry, but - dark parts?”

Dash gestured vaguely back the way they’d come. “You know. The dark parts you see when you look down over the railing outside.”

Regalia’s vocalizer actually went _click_ in surprise. He shot a look at Nightlight, who very deliberately gave him an innocent look back, the kind he’d perfected among the Highest Family: _I have no idea what’s got you in such a flap, but it’s nothing to do with me._

“Ah,” Regalia coughed, “you mustn’t look down, little one. That’s where the monsters come from, after all.”

Dash gave him the flattest, most disapproving look in the _world._ “That’s awful. There’s _people_ down there.”

He strode away, leaving Regalia gaping, to take Nightlight’s hand. Nightlight squeezed it gently, humming his love and pride.

*

Diplomats, Nightlight soon found, have to get up early. There was washing and detailing, a morning meeting with the Praxians over fuel, and while Dash and the other little ones were herded outside along with Thundersong, Skydance and Shimmersea to see the sights of upper Iacon - all of them making a point of looking over the railings as they went - Nightlight, Fly-by-Night and Safeguard were ushered into a grand but comfortably furnished room to wait for the new Prime to be ready to see them.

“They do this just to make us more nervous,” he complained faintly, and Legate gave him a commiserating smile.

“Don’t let it get to you. I won’t be a moment - I need to make sure there are plenty of wing-friendly chairs.” He stepped out, and Nightlight - only now noticing that the waiting room was only well-furnished if you didn’t have anything attached to your back - fidgeted until the door opened again. But the person who stepped through was not Legate.

“Oh - I’m sorry,” the large hauler-frame said. “I hadn’t realized this room was occupied.”

Nightlight blinked in surprise at the newcomer, catching a faint invent from Fly-by-Night across the room only as background noise. “It’s all right,” he said as reassuringly as he knew how. Whoever the mech was, he didn’t deserve to be snapped at. “Are you waiting to see the Prime too? ...you could wait here with us, if you are. The company might help.”

Blue optics crinkled in what Nightlight rather thought was surprised acceptance, and the big mech let the door close gently behind him. “I’d like that - thank you.” He headed for one of the larger chairs and sat rather gingerly, only relaxing when it held and he didn’t topple over. It was - admittedly rather charming, and Nightlight hid a smile as the Iaconian spoke again. “Is this the first time you’ve come to Iacon? We don’t see many Vosians here.”

“I’d be very surprised if you saw any at all, but then I don’t live in Vos anymore myself.” Nightlight couldn’t sit in any of the chairs on offer - something that might have been construed as an insult if he were more easily offended, or his brother, but he rather thought it was more likely to be due to simply not realising basic wing/chair logistics - so instead he wandered across the room so that he and the hauler could speak comfortably. “I haven’t been to Iacon before myself, but others in our party have in the past. They’re out sightseeing at the moment.”

“I hope they enjoy it.” The hauler smiled mistily. “Iacon is a beautiful city, but my work leaves little time for sightseeing, I’m afraid.” Nightlight hummed in sympathy. “Oh - where are my manners. I’m Orion.”

“Nightlight,” the Vosian offered, “and these are Fly-by-Night and Safeguard.” Orion traded nods with them. “So you live in Iacon?”

“All my life. Well,” Orion corrected, “I spent some time in Kaon.”

“Kaon?” Fly-by-Night stirred. “I’m surprised. Apparently Kaon and Iacon are as different as steel and mercury.”

“It was quite the education, I’ll admit,” Orion admitted with a chuckle. “But I made some good friends there.”

“Were you there as part of the rebuilding process after the workers’ revolution?” Fly-by-Night murmured softly, his optics as watchful as his tone was diffident; Orion didn’t seem to mind, even as Nightlight gave his friend a startled look. Fly-by-Night never spoke up unless there was good reason for it, but Night couldn’t follow the other Vosian’s contrails on that one at all.

“Something like that.” Orion shrugged, not seeming to mind the question. “I’ve never been as far as Vos, though.”

Nightlight was beginning to get this mech’s measure - a foremech, he thought, or a labor organizer by trade, curious and friendly and willing to learn. He managed a real smile for him - the mech seemed nice enough, no matter how nervous Night himself might have felt. “It’s not always friendly to groundframes, I’m afraid,” he said, “but if you can overlook that it’s at least as lovely as Iacon. Sometimes I still miss it.”

“Well,” Orion said thoughtfully, “I could always get a jetpack.”

Nightlight splerked; even Fly-by-Night and Safeguard cracked smiles. “I’d like to see that!”

Orion’s thoughtful look turned to a rather impish grin, with a genuine undercurrent of curiousity underneath it. “Oh? Would that be culturally insensitive, or just funny?”

“Oh dear, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean- ahem.” Nightlight did his best to stuff his smile back down, but the corner of his mouth kept trying to jump. “That is - we don’t see many shuttles in Vos, and that’s the first place my processor went. That or everyone panicking to get out of your way if it’s more like a rocket pack!”

Orion chuckled in turn, blue optics bright with mischief - and maybe just a little of the same sky-longing Nightlight had seen many times before. “Well, if it would amuse rather than offend, I’ll certainly try it if I can.” Nightlight smiled back at him, rather touched - and relieved that Iacon had its share of mechs who followed stray breezes too.

“I’ll gladly help you up,” he promised, and caught Fly-by-Night’s amused hint of a smile from across the room; was it really so funny to imagine the big mech flying? Well, it wouldn’t be _flying,_ really, but even a slow, controlled ascent under his own power was more than most non-Vosian groundframes could manage. Besides, Nightlight liked Orion already, and he’d never been very good at knowing where to stop when it came to his friends. “It’s so nice not to have to worry about saying things like sensible people. Have you talked to the Prime before? I’m sure I’m going to wind up saying something ridiculous or offend someone or - or sit in the wrong chair and start a war with Praxus or something by mistake-”

Orion was laughing like he truly couldn’t help himself, and as he meandered to a halt Nightlight really couldn’t blame him. “I’m sorry,” he said anyway. “I know it’s silly to worry, and I’ve been told plenty of times that he’s really very kind, but - you understand, don’t you?”

“Believe me,” Orion told him, almost solemn but for the giggles making his vents stutter. “I completely understand how paralysing protocol can be.”

“Oh, good,” Nightlight said with relief, “not just me, then.”

Orion’s optics twinkled with mischief again, reminding Nightlight of no one so much as Dash. “Just think of me upsetting some Vosians you don’t like with my jetpack.”

This time it was Nightlight’s turn to laugh. “Thank you, I’ll do that.”

Orion chuckled, but his optics flickered, and he tipped his head to one side as if listening. “...ah, that’s my ping,” he said, standing. “Nightlight, Fly-by-Night, Safeguard, it was wonderful to meet you. I’ll be at the Senate for a while, so I hope we can talk again.”

“I’m sure we will,” Fly-by-Night said evenly, surprising Nightlight somewhat. This was reassuring, and Orion seemed very nice, but surely-

“Good luck,” he offered in any case.

“Thank you. You as well.” Orion nodded to them and left by the opposite door, and Nightlight sighed as it slid shut.

“I suppose we’ll be waiting a while longer, if he’s meeting the Prime before us,” he said. “Still, he seemed nice.”

“He didn’t seem like the type who usually gets in to see the Prime,” Safeguard mused, glancing at Fly-by-Night. “I suppose this new Prime really is changing things in Iacon.”

“Maybe,” Fly-by-Night murmured, and then the door opened again, startling them all.

“It’s time,” Legate told them. “Deep vents now, you’ll be fine.”

“Already?” Nightlight whispered as the other Vosians moved to the doorway. “Do you think Orion was turned away?”

Fly-by-Night made a noncommittal noise that earned him a quick, unreadable look from Safeguard, and then Legate was leading them into a hallway that could easily have encompassed Dash’s favourite Praxian market with room to spare. Towering pillars rose high over their heads in a coldly beautiful walkway, marking out an aisle wide enough for their entire party to walk into the Prime’s grand audience chamber side by side if they wished; the orange-gold metal gleamed, shaped and polished into the heavy blockwork style the Iaconians favoured, and Nightlight fought to keep his head up and his wings straight and level. So immense, so open, and yet the weight of the ceiling and pillars seemed to press down against him.

The hallway seemed to drag out to the horizon, all the same shade of brassy gold that shouldn’t have felt so unwelcoming. Nightlight paced his steps, falling back into habits he’d been taught since he was old enough to walk - smooth, gliding steps, back straight and moving from the hips, Safeguard and Fly-by-Night a perfect co-ordinated step behind and to his sides. His vents were controlled, his wings held level, and the knots cramping his tanks eased slightly when a dais came into view. One small relief - Nightlight wouldn’t have to worry about keeping his head lower than the Prime’s if the higher-ranking mech was already seated to the advantage. Only...

The closer they came to the steps leading up to the dais, to the throne set into the metal as though it had grown as a single piece to be carved into shape, the more obvious it was that it was unoccupied.

//Where is he?// Nightlight whispered, his nerves rising as they drew closer to the end of the hallway and the audience room proper. His optics darted over Legate’s helm to sweep the room - empty, aside from a solid, workmanlike desk set to the side of the dais as though it had been dropped there by a working mech reaching their allocated break time. And seated there...

Nightlight blinked, confusion rising as they entered the otherwise-empty audience chamber. “Orion?”

“Optimus Prime,” Legate said, looking straight at Orion. Orion straightened, his face solemn, and Nightlight nearly fell over.

“Oh,” he said faintly, staring up at the blank, windowless ceiling from his guard’s arms. Safeguard, bless eir wings, set him back on his pedes and took Nightlight’s arm, leading him to a chair - a wing-friendly chair, even - as though he were an aging dowager, and Orion - _Optimus Prime_ \- gave them both an apologetic look.

“I didn’t mean to deceive you,” he said. “I’ve just had enough of people my-lording me to last me a hundred lifetimes. Though I think Fly-by-Night had me figured out from the first.”

Fly-by-Night inclined his head. “You give me too much credit, Prime.”

“Vent, Nightlight,” Safeguard murmured when Nightlight gestured a wordless how-could-you-not- _warn_ -me? at Fly-by-Night.

“Think of me with a jetpack?” Orion offered, sounding smaller than he was and so apologetic that Nightlight’s brief moment of panic dissolved into a blurt of laughter.

“Let’s begin again,” Legate offered when Nightlight’s laughter faded to the occasional squeak. “Optimus Prime, this is Nightlight, formerly Vos’ Grace of the Twilit Stars, now a resident and under the protection of Praxus. Nightlight, Optimus Prime, the latest of the true Primes.”

“My friends call me Orion,” the Prime offered. “I’d be honored - that is, it would make me very happy if you would do the same.”

Nightlight pressed his hand to his mouth. “Dash is going to love you,” he murmured to those clear blue optics. Orion brightened, endearingly hopeful, and oh, heavens, now Nightlight wouldn’t be able to see him as anything other than a friendly youngling for all Orion was so much bigger than him. It was perversely reassuring.

“Dash? Is that your youngling?”

“Sparkling,” Nightlight corrected, and his smile wasn’t hard to come by in the least. “Dash is his baby name, until he tells us his true one.”

“Amazing,” Orion murmured softly, the emotion reflected in optics as blue as Dash’s. “I would very much like to meet him, and the rest of your party. I believe there are arrangements made for that, as a matter of fact. For now, though...”

It was the first time Orion - the Prime - had really hesitated since meeting them, and Nightlight’s spark dimmed with anxiety all over again.

“Now, yes,” he said quietly, fingers lacing together in his lap. Safeguard still stood close enough to touch, his silent protector, and Night drew strength from eir presence and from Fly-by-Night’s watchful field as he readied himself to speak. “I need you to understand, Orion - as Orion and as the Prime - I’m not here for my own sake. Vos has disowned me already, and that - that still hurts me at times, but it would hurt the people I care about the most if we weren’t here.” 

Nightlight paused, feeling that once again his vents were running fast and anxiety was heating his systems towards redline. He clamped down on his embarrassment as best he could and simply let his fans run; Orion’s optics flickered, and Nightlight didn’t want to think too hard about the emotion behind it. Fly-by-Night had the detachment to tell if it was pity or calculation. Nightlight’s spark led him now. “I willingly walked away from Vos to keep my sparkling safe. Now that isn’t enough.”

“The War Academy,” Orion murmured, optics darkening. “What can you tell me about it?”

“Very little,” Nightlight admitted. “But I can tell you about its founder. Maybe you can use that to - to -” He gestured helplessly. “I don’t know. I would say ‘make him stop,’ but I don’t think you can. No one but the Emirate could ever really restrain him, and that was only because Starscream wanted to be heir so badly.” Orion was silent a moment, and Nightlight desperately wished he could speak - his vents were roaring and he couldn’t make himself stop wringing his hands. He felt as though there were a hot spotlight on him.

Orion sighed slowly. “I don’t know that I can stop him. I won’t make you any promises I’m not sure I can keep. I will promise that I will try to curtail him - for Cybertron’s sake, as well as for yours and your sparkling’s.”

“Thank you for your honesty.” Nightlight shuttered his optics briefly. “Starscream is very proud, very cruel, and hates anyone but him to have power. He doesn’t have any respect for groundframes, especially Iaconians, because of - of his treatment at the Iaconian Science Academy. I’m afraid he’ll hate you on sight.”

Orion’s helm lifted. “Starscream attended the Science Academy? I didn’t know that.”

Nightlight gave him a blank look; Fly-by-Night filled the silence for him. “My agent in Iacon told me that Starscream’s records had been sealed or expunged, and his work accredited to his Iaconian peers.”

“No wonder he hates us,” Orion said with a tired grimness - Nightlight got the impression he was well used to dealing with the fallout of Iaconian mismanagement. “Do you know what happened?”

“Only third- or fourth-hand accounts at best,” Fly-by-Night admitted calmly. “My agent was not in the Academy proper. The event that led to Starscream’s expulsion had to do with his returning from a long-term survey trip without his survey partner.”

“Skyfire,” Nightlight said suddenly. “His name was Skyfire.”

*

_The eirie was crowded with flickering wings, the breezes carrying a rising and falling murmur of voices as the nobles of Vos danced through the Grand Ballroom. Nightlight peered at the colourful crowd from around a windowframe and was briefly, quietly glad that his colours matched the Emirate’s, and therefore the rest of the spire’s decor. It would be hard to spot him from here, and he wouldn’t be made to join in._

_It would have been more sensible to stay shut away in his quarters and avoid the gathering entirely, but - whatever his siblings might say about his processing power, Nightlight was no fool. He had heard enough snippets of gossip since Starscream had announced his sudden return from Iacon to know that his sibling wasn’t coming back alone, and that Starscream’s interest in his guest was likely not the platonic kind. If Starscream had his optics fixed on a potential bondmate, Nightlight wanted to know what he was in for._

_He shifted again, cradling his spark’s joy in his arms as ‘Song and ‘Dance crept into place behind pillars of their own. ‘Dance’s optics were wide and pale, but he gave Night a smile that was all bravado - if they got caught, Nightlight would only be escorted back to the quarters he was exiled to, or be forced into the ballroom to face the chilly reception of everyone there. ‘Song and ‘Dance...he didn’t want to think about it, but they had point-blank refused to let him go alone. The thought warmed him, even as the spectre of Consequences frightened him half to deactivation. Typical of Starscream to come back just in time for Dash to unfurl and the condemnation to start. At least his little one was too distracted to make a sound - little blue optics were fixed on the fluttering colours of the dancers overhead, and Dashlet batted happily at the bright glow of lights through the coloured sections of glass that played over his Carrier’s plating._

_The hum of voices rose sharply, the Vosian nobility furthest away from Nightlight’s hiding spot turning and dropping like the beginnings of a wave, the gesture rolling through the assembled crowd and allowing Nightlight a brief glimpse of a tall, white-plated shuttle entering on Starscream’s arm._

_The poor mech looked petrified._

_Nightlight’s spark ached again in sympathy; he dared a swift glance at Starscream’s smug, triumphant expression and the possessive hold of a social superior that blue hands had on the shuttle’s arm. He could only hope with every bit of strength he had left that the shuttle really, truly knew what he was getting himself into - and if he didn’t, that he was wise enough to get himself out of there quickly._

*

“I’ll ask the Academy to unlock those records,” Orion said, pulling Nightlight back to the present. “Perhaps there’s something in them we can use - some reparation we can offer.”

Nightlight shook his head. “Unless you can bring Skyfire back, I think the chances of that are slim.” He blinked when Orion actually looked _thoughtful_. “You aren’t thinking…”

“It’s not outside the realm of possibility to request another long-range survey,” Orion said. “Assuming I bull my way through another group of hidebound obstructionists, but that’s becoming my signature move.” Nightlight blinked, not sure how to respond to that. “I don’t suppose you have any idea where Starscream and Skyfire were assigned.”

“I’m afraid not.” Nightlight managed. “Somewhere in the outer rim, that’s all I heard. He wasn’t - exactly welcoming of questions, even from people he liked.”

Orion’s optics softened with sympathy, and Nightlight lowered his head again to shield himself from it.

“If you can find him,” he said, softly but quickly enough that Orion wouldn’t have time to be kind, “you’ll certainly have Starscream’s attention. Just - don’t ever mistake that for friendship, or mercy. We weren’t raised for that. ...I don’t know if it will stop him from trying to get his own back on the Senate mechs, but it might help.”

“Then I will do my best.” 

The subject was mercifully dropped after that. Orion asked about the War Academy itself, and looked appropriately grim when he heard about the conscription of fliers with Sigma abilities; there was little Nightlight could tell him about the arrangement of the Academy itself outside of Sunfire’s being appointed to lead it.

“That by itself might swing the balance of power in the eirie, despite the fact that Starscream may well have intended him to only be a figurehead,” Nightlight said, his hands gone from tying his fingers into knots to wrapping around his elbows to hold himself together. He couldn’t quite meet Orion’s optics, or banish the sludgy feeling coursing through his lines - this was for Dash, this was for his family, the family he’d found that loved him. Not for the one that didn’t want him. “Sunfire isn’t stupid; he’s not as charismatic as Starscream can be when he wants something, but he’s always been more a war-Seeker than a diplomat and he’s a solid fighter. He could lead Vos’ military away from Starscream if he had the opportunity.”

“Do you think he would, if the opportunity arose?”

Nightlight hesitated, flashing back to the memory of the announcement Resonance had saved for him. “Not - not right now, I don’t think. Starscream is too popular - it’s one thing after another, he’s - he’s got too much momentum to be stopped or diverted. Later, maybe, when things settle down...”

“Hmm.” Orion’s optics flickered from Nightlight to his datapad again. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

*

They emerged late in the second shift, and Nightlight was greeted by a charging lillun.

“Carrieeeer!” Dash crowed. “We went to the science museum and I got to make the thrusters go and we met an engineer and his name is Wheeljack!”

“So, I take it you had a good time,” Nightlight laughed, cuddling him close as Shimmersea and the other sparklings joined them, followed by a couple of the Praxian diplomatic team. “Were you good?”

“Yes!” they all chorused, and Dash beamed happily.

“We all had a good time,” Shimmersea chuckled, giving Haze a pat as the sparkling moved passed her to greet hir own carrier. “The guide seemed a little flummoxed by sparklings, but we worked it out soon enough.”

“There aren’t many sparklings here,” Orion admitted. “Comes of being so close to Vector Sigma. You must be Nightlight’s friends - I’m Orion.”

“You’re big,” Dusk piped up, optics wide, his fellow sparklings clustering together by Nightlight’s pedes to stare up at the big Iaconian in open curiousity.

Orion only laughed. “Yes, I suppose I am.”

“Orion is the Prime here,” Nightlight said, and credited for the warm weight of his sparkling in his arms for his voice staying steady. “His name is Optimus when he’s at work.”

Dusk’s jaw dropped, along with her sister’s, and Dash stilled completely before wiggling half out of Nightlight’s arms in excitement. Shimmersea moved to lay a hand on her sparklings’ helms and bowed to a carefully calculated degree, her expression smooth and unruffled and giving nothing away with a soft murmur of “Prime.” Nightlight’s trinemates glanced at each other and copied the gesture - Thundersong smoothly and with more practise than Skydance showed, but then ‘Dance was likely trying to compare the real mech to the fanciful image in the mural for his own reference. Rather than any kind of subtle approval at their respectful gesture, Orion shifted his weight and reached out to Shimmersea, the nearest adult and, well, the instigator.

“Please, don’t. I don’t need any kind of gesture - you’re all welcome here and Nightlight has told me a little of what you’ve all gone through. Your courage at coming here at all deserves commendation.”

Shimmersea tilted her head, confusion flickering in her optics as she straightened, then blinked in surprise as Orion’s hand landed on her shoulder. She held very still as he spoke and Nightlight started forward to reassure her - he needn’t have worried.

“You flatter us, Prime,” Shimmersea said calmly enough, “And while you might honestly believe what you say, there have been members of your Senate - or mechs in their employ - keeping their optics on us all day thus far, so I would rather land on the side of caution. We are well in view, after all.”

Orion’s vents cleared with an exasperated huff and he shook his head, automatically moving to look for the hidden watchers. “You shouldn’t have to-”

“But it will help our case if we do, and you’ll have some charming footage of meeting our sparklings being a matter of public record,” Shimmersea interrupted smoothly, stopping him short and drawing his attention back to her. “My designation is Shimmersea - I was a member of the Sparkbearers Guild of Vos. These are Dawn and Dusk, my sparklings.”

Slightly off-balance but quietly impressed, Orion inclined his helm at her words and offered a broad, strong hand to Shimmersea; after a split second of confusion, she mimicked him and clasped his gauntlet in the Iaconian style. “You are very perceptive, Sparkbearer Shimmersea. It is an honour to meet you - and you both too,” he added, smiling down at the twins. They both wiggled a little and returned his smile rather shyly, and after glancing up at their carrier held their hands up to him for their entire forearms to be enveloped by Orion’s gentle grip.

Curious, Dash extended his hand as well, and Orion offered him the same gesture, curling his fingers around the sparkling’s smooth forearm. “It’s rough,” Dash commented, reaching to pat at Orion’s - scuffed and work-roughened, now that Nightlight looked - fingers and palm.

“I was a dockworker before I was a Prime,” Orion explained gently, opening his hand to let Dash explore. “And I helped build things in Kaon and Iacon - hospitals, training centers. Things people need.”

“In the dark places?” Dash asked thoughtfully.

Nightlight winced, an apology on his lips, but Orion was already nodding. “Yes, in the dark places, where they need help more than anyone. I can never allow myself to forget that I was once one of them, and only chance gave me the title I bear now. That is why I build. One day those places will be filled with light.”

Nightlight wasn’t sure how much of that Dash followed, but the little one smiled, patted Orion’s arm, and said, “Good,” with the firm conviction of a sparkling. Then he stuck his arms up for a hug.

“Oh, sweetspark,” Orion said, optics warming. “May I, Nightlight?”

“Of course,” Nightlight said, and eased Dash into Orion’s arms for a cuddle.

“I like him,” he overheard Shimmersea murmur; Nightlight himself had already been well on his way to liking Orion, but as he watched the big hauler-frame fuss over his sparkling, he decided that this Prime was honorary family.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the lilluns explore Iacon, Optimus kicks most of the aft, and Shimmersea kicks all the aft that Optimus had not previously kicked. Megatron makes his illustrious entrance, and we finally meet the psychopomp of Iacon. Nightlight... just kinda wants to go home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: another panic attack in front of an authority figure. Poor Nightlight. :(

For all that the original purpose of their visit was solely for Nightlight to speak to the Prime in relative confidentiality, there seemed to have been something of a miscommunication along the way. After Nightlight’s initial, nerve-wracking meeting with the Prime that lasted almost the entire cycle, he had expected Orion to perhaps call him back to elaborate on what Nightlight had told him on the first day in Iacon, and had planned to spend the rest of the diplomatic visit on the same kind of casually-arranged and comparatively hidden-away amusements that the rest of his family had enjoyed. Apparently this wasn’t the norm for political envoys in Iacon, and to Nightlight’s shock there was a timetable waiting for him when his family returned to the envoy’s quarters.

“Who _arranged_ all this?” he wailed to no-one in particular, voice rising in his agitation. “We can’t just - just parade around Iacon like nothing’s wrong, if Vos hears about this I don’t even know what will happen!”

“Technically this is an official Praxian envoy, and if you want to make excuses for us then you can just say as much to them,” Shimmersea replied. “I doubt the priests were aware that some Senatorial flunky was ordered to draft up a tour of Iaconian superiority, but Fly-by would know better than I if this is the norm.”

Under the room’s expectant optics, Fly-by-Night merely twitched a wing. “Iacon has disdained inter-city diplomacy for so long, likely they’re making use of having a new Prime to try and grab on to any advantage they can. If trying to impress the Praxians is their aim, it’s a rather short-sighted plan, but if said new Prime is going about dismantling the worst of their excesses, I doubt they would suffer it quietly. Likely someone is trying to distract the Prime from something or other and using our arrival as a smokescreen.”

“But, I had fun seein’ things.”

Nightlight stopped, guilt squeezing his spark as he spotted Dash standing in the doorway. “Bit, you should be in your hammock,” he scolded gently, going to scoop him up.

Dash didn’t resist, laying his head on Nightlight’s shoulder. “Do we have to stay inside?” he asked plaintively. “Like in Vos?”

“Oh, bit.” Nightlight nuzzled his baby’s cheek. “No. This isn’t Vos. It’s just that…” He halted, trying to find a way to explain it in a way Dash would understand.

Safeguard came to his rescue. “Orion has cousins too. So we all have to be careful and watchful here.”

Dash scowled. “Cousins _again!_ Let’s bring Orion home with us. No cousins in Praxus.”

Nightlight laughed, squidging him close. “For now, love, Orion must stay in Iacon. But if he ever gets a bit of free time, we’ll give him a standing invitation to come to visit us in Praxus. Would you like that?”

“Yeah!”

“Good.” A gentle nuzzle against the forehelm. “Now, back to your hammock with you.”

Dash nodded and snuggled into Nightlight’s neck, satisfaction threading through his increasingly sleepy field. “‘Kay. ...can Orion still come with us an’ see stuff if we’re really good?”

...how anyone could refuse a pleading little voice like that was beyond Nightlight. He slipped through the doorway leading to the bitlets’ shared room, between Shimmersea’s and his own, and settled Dashlet into the portable hammocks they’d brought all the way from Vos.

“If you’re really good, we can ask and see if he’s free,” he murmured, and smiled helplessly as Dash beamed. “For now, you need to recharge. We have all sorts of things to see while we’re here.”

“‘Kay, carrier,” Dash murmured, reaching out for one last hug. “Love you.”

“I love you too, my sweetest bit,” Nightlight whispered, and cradled him close to nuzzle at his cheek. Dash bumped his cheek and nuzzled back, then wiggled in the hammock until he was comfortable; Dawn and Dusk stirred and blinked dimly from their own hammocks, and Nightlight crooned softly to them - _hush, safety and peace._

“Carrier?” Dash warbled, half in recharge already. “Sing me?”

Nightlight glanced back at the two hopeful, sleepy looks from the room’s other occupants and sighed fondly. “Of course, sweetest. But only if you all shut off your optics to listen.”

The room instantly dimmed, and Nightlight chuckled to himself as he began to sing. _“As the stars dance in their turns, little one, how they must think it queer - that I hold a star in my arms, little one, that a star like you is here...”_

*

The Iacon Academy of Science and Industry was, if that were possible, even more grand than the shared Senate-Prime compound. It was bigger, for one thing, having sprawled over the millennia to encompass almost a fifth of Iacon’s total square megamileage. It had amassed an incredible store of wealth in wall art, sculpture, architecture and hardlight paintings. It was also the lynchpin of the Iaconian economy: Vector Sigma younglings went there by the truckload to be trained for the workforce, medics and technicians learned their trade there, and if you wanted to be a Senator one day, you had to first prove your metal in the pressure cooker that was the Academy master track. It was desperately expensive, horribly intimidating, and rather crowded.

Nightlight was very grateful to be traveling in the company of Optimus Prime. Crowds parted before him wherever they went, and the instructors who came to greet him - and flatter him, and air grievances and so on - ignored Nightlight and his wing entirely. Dash and the other little ones were having a grand time waving at everyone who passed, and sometimes they even got waved-at back.

“Hey there!” someone called over, and Nightlight looked for the source of the voice; he needn’t have bothered. Dash bounced upright in his arms and waved frantically with both hands, and Dawn and Dusk both lit up.

“Wheeljack!”

“Hi Wheeljack hi!”

“Hey, guys!” the mech cheered in reply, working his way through the crowds; another groundframe of a type Nightlight was unfamiliar with, though that was hardly surprising. They’d seen so many today, and that was just from the collection of bodyguards shadowing Orion. This one was smaller and lighter than most of them, his plating dark grey and what might have been white under the smudges of- was that ash? 

Dash wiggled as Wheeljack drew up alongside them, reaching out for a hug. “‘Lo Wheeljack!” he said happily, rubbing his cheek against one of the brightly-flashing biolights at either side of the mech’s helm. “Are you showing us around today too?”

“Aww, heh. Nah, not this time, sorry - just saw you heading past and thought I’d say hello.” Wheeljack’s lights flashed in a friendly sort of fashion as he spoke, and Nightlight finally remembered where he’d heard the name before.

“Weren’t you the engineer at the Science Museum?” he asked, and Wheeljack lit up even more brightly than he was already as he nodded. “Then thank you for helping to entertain our little ones. It sounded as though they had a wonderful time.”

“Hey, no problem. They’re adorable, and I always like it when people ask me how stuff works!”

“He let me play with the thruster display,” Dash said importantly, and Wheeljack chuckled.

“Well, if you’re gonna be flying around, you’d better know how all your bits work, right?”

“Right!” the twins cheered, and Wheeljack promptly shuffled around Night and through the crowd of guards to hug them both too. Shimmersea turned to see just what was going on, the twins being currently perched on her shoulders, but relaxed when she recognised the mech’s field.

“Is this where you work when you’re not shepherding visiting Vosians?” she asked, and Wheeljack chuckled.

“I’ve got a lab of my own nearby, but a lot of my work is on commission from the Academy, of course, so I spend a lot of time here. What about you, are you getting the grand-” His optics finally fell on Orion, standing back with an amused look on his face, and the Vosians could see the exact moment coherent thought fled his processor, leaving only star-struck fluttering behind. “...tour,” he squeaked. “Prime! Hi! Oh, wow, um. This is - wow, if I’d known you’d be here I would have polished up.”

Orion glanced around, then leaned forward conspiratorially. “I didn’t even polish up today.”

Wheeljack blinked twice, then sputtered his way into laughing, and the two of them exchanged handclasps. “Sorry for bluescreening,” the engineer offered, “I’m a huge fan. You probably hear that a lot.”

“I can never hear it too often,” Orion answered. “Besides, any friend of Dash’s is a friend of mine.” Dash beamed proudly and swung his pedes in his Carrier’s arms. “We’re headed toward the Hall of Records. You’re welcome to accompany us, and if you know of any interesting tidbits the official tours wouldn’t mention along the way…”

“Oh, I know all the stories.” Wheeljack couldn’t exactly grin, but his biolights flashed cheerily. “Just follow me.”

After his brief flustered moment, Wheeljack seemed to almost forget that his new friend was the Prime. He ambled along with the cluster of Vosians, Prime and bodyguards galore as though they were simply out for a stroll, and as they made their way through the throng of students desperately trying to get to their classes in time and the staff trying to request favours from the Prime, he pointed out interesting buildings and the occasional landmark along the way.

“See that one there? That’s the building I work in, it’s got all the labs and the, uh, bunkers underneath it for the more volatile stuff. I’m normally down in the bunkers. Oh, hey, check that out - ‘Dance, you’ll like this - that there’s a statue that’s supposed ta be a model of a chemical compound called-”

“Wheeljack!”

“...uh. Not that.” Wheeljack blinked in confusion, casting about for just who was yelling for him; Orion’s bodyguards, who had glanced at the stocky red powerhouse of a mech for orders and simply let Wheeljack slip through their cordon, all promptly closed ranks against the mech pushing their way through the thinning crowd of students.

“Councillor Downbeat,” Orion said, shifting his weight and standing taller. A faint hint of disapproval edged his deep voice, and the transition between ‘Orion, friend to sparklings’ and ‘Optimus, the Reformer Prime’ was near-instant. The oncoming Councilmech didn’t seem to notice, but the mechs around them did; all at once the rush of students vanished entirely as everyone found somewhere else to lurk and watch what was going on.

“Optimus Prime, what an honour it is to have you grace our campus with your presence.” Dash’s nose wrinkled at the words, and the oily tone they were delivered with; from the way Orion’s backstruts tightened, he didn’t like it much either. “How may we be of service? I hope this mech wasn’t pressing any requests too far above his station.”

Orion’s optics narrowed. “He offered, very kindly, to guide us to our destination,” he rumbled, and Councillor Downbeat didn’t dare glance away to glare at Wheeljack in turn. 

“Well, I can take over from here, so he is free to go about his business,” the Councillor announced. Wheeljack hunched, looking ready to flee, but Skydance’s hand on his shoulder kept him where he was as Orion’s head bodyguard positioned himself between the engineer and the Councillor again.

“You are welcome to accompany us,” Orion said firmly, as Dash made faces behind Downbeat’s back. “But Wheeljack is more than adequate as a guide, and I won’t have him ejected from my presence by anyone’s will other than mine or his.” He laid a hand on Wheeljack’s free shoulder, underlining the point; Wheeljack looked ready to combust with a confused mixture of embarrassment and happiness.

This time Downbeat did narrow his optics at Wheeljack openly, but Orion’s level bluntness left him no avenue to argue his case further. He fell in with the group, separated from Wheeljack and the Vosians by a wall of bodyguards, and a much quieter Wheeljack took the lead once again.

“Where is it you wished to see, Prime?” Downbeat asked, projecting his voice past the barricade of the big red mech who paced along at Orion’s side.

“You will see,” Orion answered gravely before Wheeljack could tell him; Dash stuck his glossa out at Downbeat’s back. Nightlight clicked his own glossa disapprovingly, but then Skydance went and did the exact same thing, and the head bodyguard - Nightlight could only wish he had caught that one’s name - tilted his head just far enough to show off his smirk. Skydance promptly _beamed_ and bumped Wheeljack with his hip, hand still resting on the engineer’s shoulder; given that the other mech was head and shoulders shorter than Skydance, it was a good thing Skydance hadn’t let go yet.

“...oops. Sorry, Wheeljack, bit over-enthusiastic there - so, what was that statue meant to be again?”

*

The party made their way through the campus, a little faster now that the break between classes was apparently over; there were still students and lecturers to be seen, heading purposefully from one building to another or pausing to scribble furiously on datapads, but it was much calmer than the entryway and main courtyards had been. Part of that could have been the overly-expansive field of the Councillor, doing his best to glide along at Orion’s side but having to hop-skip to keep up with the bigger mech’s implacable stride.

“Really, Prime,” he huffed, vents starting to work to fan heat away from systems unaccustomed to having to move faster than a stalk. “I’m sure that whatever it is you came to see, I can call ahead and the staff will _happily_ keep it open for you-”

“I have no need to inconvenience mecha working far harder than I must, for much less reward.”

That stymied Downbeat for long enough that the Hall of Records coming into view ahead went unnoticed for precious clicks. “I assure you, Prime, our wages are quite competitive, we’re the largest employer in the-”

“Yes, I know,” Orion interrupted, sounding distinctly unimpressed. “But that’s not why I’m here.”

Downbeat finally noticed the building looming ahead, and gulped audibly. “Why _are_ you here?”

“It is a matter of planetary security.” The Reformer Prime strode through the doors - which opened at the merest brush of his ID beacon - and walked directly to the receptionist’s desk as the bodyguards spread out to cover the room as though following the steps of a stately dance. The Vosians clustered uncertainly in the middle, watching as Downbeat tottered in Orion’s wake in mounting panic.

“Prime, I really must insist-”

“Hello.” Orion’s voice was gentle, almost coaxing the minibot behind the desk to come out from behind her clipboard. “I need access to the restricted section, please.”

“-not necessary, and may I add highly irregular-”

The receptionist’s optics flickered from the Prime to the blustering official at his shoulder, then - almost unconsciously - to Wheeljack, standing in the open space behind them both. Seeing her optics on him, he gave her a cheery ‘go on’ shooing gesture.

Her shoulders straightened. “Right away, Prime.”

*

This time, Nightlight gave very firm instructions for Safeguard to stay with Dash. 

As they followed Orion and the rather startled archivist the receptionist had summoned, Nightlight found himself following so closely on Fly-by-Night’s heels that a sharp corner would cause some awkward manoeuvering problems. The older mech didn’t turn his head, but instead sent a querying ping over the comm.

//I just...// Nightlight hesitated, glancing up at the towering racks of storage units recessed into the walls, old enough that the gold-orange render of the latest fading Golden Age hadn’t reached them. //...feel like we’re walking into something terrible.//

//Very likely we are,// Fly-by said calmly, and barely twitched as Nightlight flinched. //The deeper in we go, the more old wires are laid bare. Whatever proof Orion thinks he can find will have been chewed over and locked away where no lights can find it, but bent wire still catches the optic when biolights pass by.//

//Of all the metaphors you could have used, that one has to have been the most disturbing.//

Downbeat hadn’t come along with them, much to the head bodyguard’s displeasure. Orion had insisted, and he’d also insisted that the bulk of his bodyguards stay behind with Nightlight’s family - Night could have nuzzled him in front of everyone - but had agreed to taking two guards of his own into the depths of the Hall of Records. A silent, scowling golden youngling who was as tall as Nightlight stomped close at Orion’s heels, and had seemed to take some kind of enjoyment from making the Councillor’s voice ratchet up higher by stepping just a little too close whenever the mech started to slow when they were aboveground; the other, a forgettable groundframe in green and grey, walked beside the Prime with watchful optics darting down every turning.

The archivist paused. “I think this would be a good place to start,” he announced, and activated the nearest server tower with his own ID. The tower lit up, the indicator lights blinking a few times before settling into a steady blue glow, and its port hub cover slid aside to allow them access. “We’ll start by looking for court cases in the relevant time frame with redacted names.”

“Of course.” Orion nodded, trusting the archivist’s expertise.

It didn’t take long to find the file. The most recent data packet meeting the search criteria was surprisingly well-documented for a case that the Academy trustees wanted buried and forgotten. There were audial recordings, a transcript, and supplementary notes regarding - to Orion’s relief - the location of Starscream and Skyfire’s survey mission. Orion processed it all silently, then turned to give Nightlight a significant look.

“I think you too should know what was done to your brother,” he said, and Nightlight steeled himself before he stepped forward to plug his own data cable into the server. His optics dimmed offline and his joints locked, and Fly-by-Night moved to stand a quiet vigil with his back to the server tower beside Nightlight.

_“You can’t do this!”_

_“Let the accused be stricken from the records of this institution-”_

_“HE’S STILL ALIVE!”_

_“-removed from Iacon, any and all patents-”_

_“He’s still alive! You - you stupid, petty, worthless- I will bring this wretched hovel to the GROUND for this, I’ll take his worth out of your hides-!”_

_“-be destroyed, and his qualifications revoked-”_

_“I’ll kill you! I’LL KILL YOU ALL! SKYFIRE! Bring him BACK!”_

...Nightlight tore himself away from the server, his data cable jerking loose with a sharp pain that felt like a distraction, like a relief.

“I’ve never seen him cry before,” he whispered, and wiped clumsily at his face as Fly-by-Night quietly nodded to Nightlight’s own tears. Breaking the connection early and forcing his frame to co-operate before it was ready hadn’t been smart, but he couldn’t watch any more. The cold, impersonal transcript data scrolling alongside the video was bad enough.

“I’m sorry,” Orion murmured, but he didn’t try to reach out to him physically. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. Skyfire deserved better, and so did Starscream.”

Nightlight shook his head mutely, unable to form words in the face of that. It wasn’t enough, it would never satisfy Starscream and there was a part of Nightlight’s spark that wouldn’t be satisfied either, but Orion was his friend and he’d had nothing to do with this. “Let’s just go,” he whispered, and then the lights went out, plunging them all into darkness.

Nightlight couldn’t quite stifle a yelp; “A power outage?” blurted the archivist. “Our backup generators have backup generators. This isn’t supposed to be possible.”

“Someone’s messing with us,” growled Orion’s gold bodyguard, as both the guards and Orion boosted their biolights to create a small island of light in the middle of the darkness. “Everyone form up, protect the Prime!”

“Wait, what?” Nightlight blurted, then stumbled as Fly-by-Night drew him in closer to Orion and the startled researchers.

Orion held up a hand. “I don’t believe an attack is imminent, Sunstreaker. This must simply be the Academy’s attempt to protect its secrets from me. Downbeat’s handiwork, no doubt.” His voice descended to a growl. “It’s only thanks to Teravolt’s skill that we were able to get the information we needed before Downbeat found someone he could convince to cut the power.” The archivist squirmed at the Prime’s praise. “Even so, let’s hurry back. I don’t want the Councillor getting any more bright ideas.”

The other guard snorted. “ ‘Bright ideas,’” he muttered.

Orion’s confused optics reset in the darkness, and Nightlight bit back a laugh that was too close to hysteria for comfort. “Yes, I- ...oh. My apologies, that wasn’t intentional.”

“It never is with you,” the golden guard lamented, and Fly-by-Night huffed softly close by Nightlight’s audial.

“Shall we?” he said dryly, and no-one would have known that his hand was tight on Nightlight’s upper arm in the darkness. Night cycled his vents to try and stop his wings from trembling, and took a step forward alongside Fly-by when he moved. The space felt better than a cramped tunnel would, and there was the faint whisper of moving air and the scuff of their pedes echoing distantly back to them, but...

//I’m glad Orion left most of the guards with the little ones,// Nightlight offered, and Fly-by’s wingtip brushed gently against his own.

//You’ve always been far too observant of people’s emotions,// was the reply, but Fly-by’s grip eased slightly on Nightlight’s arm. Night lay his hand over Fly-by-Night’s and squeezed, and didn’t let go as they walked.

Thanks to the archivist’s familiarity with the records room and the biolights of Orion and the guards, they made it out to the reception hall with no problems. Downbeat was there, muttering excitedly amid a small knot of fellow Very Important Mechanisms and pointedly ignoring the half of Orion’s party left behind. He pasted on a worried expression when he spotted Orion emerging.

“Prime, I’m terribly sorry,” he announced, “I don’t know what’s happened. Our technicians are working on it as we speak, but if you would just tell me what you’re looking for I can get the information for you personally as soon as-”

“-That won’t be necessary,” Orion interrupted. “We found what we needed.”

Downbeat utterly failed to hide his falter. “Oh. I - I see.”

Orion returned to the rest of his bodyguards, followed by a very smug Teravolt; Nightlight gratefully took Dash from Safeguard and nuzzled him close, feeling the tension drain out of him. “You’ve been ever so patient today,” he murmured, and Dash nosed his cheek.

“They’ve all been very patient,” Shimmersea smiled as Fly-by-Night picked up Haze for a hug of hir own. “I think they’ve earned a treat. Prime, can you spare a little more time to join us?”

Orion’s optics crinkled. “I must regretfully decline,” he said. “Perhaps some other time before you leave?”

Shimmersea bowed slightly. “I sincerely hope so. ...Wheeljack, how about you?”

“Uh?” Tearing his optics away from where Downbeat was giving him a Look that promised unpleasant things in his future, Wheeljack turned to Shimmersea with a rather distracted air. She gave him a smile significantly more distracting than Downbeat and tried again, and Wheeljack lit up as she spoke. “Would you like to come with us? The little ones deserve a treat, and we all would enjoy your company.”

“Pleeease?” Haze broke in, cuddled up close in Fly-by-Night’s arms, and Wheeljack’s brightening biolights almost outshone the entire group.

“Really? Aw, I’d love to! I think I can spare a day out of the lab for a change~”

The sparklings all cheered, Haze throwing up eir arms in triumph and Dash wiggling delightedly; Dawn and Dusk glanced at each other and blurted in unison. “Can we go to the Museum some more?”

“Well, I’d certainly like to see this Museum, unless anyone has any other preference?” Nightlight said, glancing at the others; Fly-by-Night fluttered his wings eloquently, with no real preference aside from cuddling Haze close and perhaps listening in on the Very Important Mechanisms as they scurried along in Orion’s wake. Skydance only grinned. 

“Oh, you definitely wanna see the Museum. There’s a giant model of a space-worthy thruster assembly, did Dash tell you? _And,_ amongst the other stuff we _didn’t_ get to see last time, there’s a hall that’s supposed to be for explaining echoes and soundwaves to younglings. Personally I wanna hear ‘Song get to play in _that._ ”

*

The group of them were having a grand time at the Museum until _she_ showed up.

Bargelike in presence if not in proportion, she parted the crowds like a Prime on her way to their company, seated at one of the refreshment stations on the building’s lower floor. Safeguard moved to stand in her way, but she sailed right past eir without even acknowledging eir existence.

“Here you are!” she announced, in a breathy voice. “When you didn’t arrive at all for your first appointment I was distraught!”

“Appointment?” Nightlight asked worriedly, just as Fly-by-Night said “Excuse me, who are you?” in a voice just shy of a growl.

“Why,” the Iaconian responded, as though _everyone_ should know who she was, “I am Umbrage. Personal secretary to Daybreak and the author of your schedule. Did your Praxian escorts not pass the message along?”

Nightlight drew Dash closer, casting a pleading look at Safeguard. “We were not aware that it was mandatory,” Fly-by-Night answered evenly. “Our plans changed.”

Umbrage did not have particularly large optics, but the thick line of black paint around them made her every expression pop, including the shocked one she wore now. “You Vosians can be so unpredictable!” she exclaimed. “Begging your pardon, of course. You know I shall have to rework tomorrow’s schedule to cover the items you missed today.”

“If you must.” Fly-by-Night sounded disinterested. “Whom shall we contact if our plans change again?”

“I do hope they won’t,” Umbrage said kindly. “It is, after all, the schedule. There’s no telling what unsavory places you might find yourselves in, if you deviate - not to mention the unsavory characters therein.”

Funny, she seemed to be looking right at Wheeljack when she said that. The twins’ expressions instantly fell from curious to sparkbroken, and while Wheeljack was distracted by explaining something terribly technical in one of the displays to ‘Song, ‘Dance and Haze, Dash didn’t miss the slight against his friend. He puffed up in Nightlight’s arms and positively thrummed with outrage, but before he could say a word Shimmersea got there first.

“I’m terribly sorry that you were put to all this trouble,” she said blandly, and that sheer lack of anything at all in her tone set Nightlight’s wings back and had Fly-by-Night raising an intrigued optical ridge. Umbrage’s lips curled in a faint, pleased smirk, but before the satisfaction blooming in her field could reach her vocaliser Shimmersea went on. “You see, as we _have_ no schedule, there is no possible way you could have been its author. There has clearly been a mistake.”

“No schedule?” Umbrage gasped, her optics widening and a hand resting over her spark; Nightlight’s wings _twitched._ “No schedule, when you are staying in the Prime’s Compound in Iacon? Our fair city is called the capitol of Cybertron for a _reason_ , my dear sieur; you mustn’t be allowed to simply waste your time here. Good heavens, not at all.”

“I see,” Shimmersea said evenly. Safeguard had moved to loom over the smaller, slighter grounder, eir optics thin and hot as ei glared at the top of Umbrage’s helm, and only Fly-by-Night’s presence at the outside seat of their booth had stopped eir from forcibly spinning Umbrage around and away from eir charges. “And the Prime told you this, did he?”

“The Prime?” Umbrage laughed then, a chiming, tinkling laugh that seemed oblivious to the fact that it rang out unaccompanied. “Oh dear me, we are impressed with our recent company, aren’t we? No, no, the Prime has far too much to do to be concerned with such things. You needn’t worry your processors over that.”

Shimmersea laced her fingers together and rested her elbows on the table, her voice modulated for utter calm and the kind of serenity Nightlight could only admire from afar; at the other end of the booth his trinemates had realised there was Something Happening, and Wheeljack was staring down the length of the table in frank bewilderment. “You misunderstand me,” Shimmersea was saying, her optics lidding like a bored cybercat. “If the Prime had offered us a guide, or a proposed series of activities to fit around his wishes, we would of course have gladly accepted. However, given that his express wish was that we amuse ourselves as we so chose and remain at his service whenever he required us, I believe it would be both rude and impolitic to accept any such...inflexible arrangements. I thank you for your offer of service, but it appears you were misinformed. I regret that your effort was misplaced.”

With that, Shimmersea inclined her head perfectly politely to Umbrage, and turned her attention back to the twins - who were blinking up at their carrier in open adoration. “Your Grace, with respect, I believe Safeguard is waiting for your instructions.”

“...um.” Nightlight blinked, slightly dazed, and looked past Umbrage’s shocked expression to Safeguard’s sharp grin. _Oh - oh, she means me!_ “Ah. Yes. Safeguard? I believe our visitor is done here.”

With word from his lord finally given, Safeguard landed eir hand quite firmly on Umbrage’s shoulder. She stiffened, looking ready to take whole _piles_ of her name, but if she made a scene now, the consequences would land on _her_ in the end. She turned sharply, away from Safeguard’s hand, and exited at a fast stalk.

“Next time, she’s not getting anywhere near you,” Safeguard promised in a low voice, as Nightlight leaned back and tried to quiet his racing spark. “I promise.”

“Thank you,” Nightlight managed. “And thank you, Shimmersea. You were magnificent.”

“I’m all too familiar with her type,” Shimmersea smirked. “That was - rather satisfying, actually. ...yes, darlings, don’t worry, I’ll teach you all of my secrets,” she added to her twins’ beaming faces.

Dash seemed to be thinking things over, but finally he frowned at the door Umbrage had exited. “There’s a _lot_ of cousins in Iacon,” he commented.

“I think we’re just finding ourselves in the place where most of the - cousins like to live,” Shimmersea told him, picking up Dash’s unique vocabulary easily. “Wheeljack is Iaconian, and we like him, don’t we?”

“Yes!” the little ones chorused.

Shimmersea directed a smile Wheeljack’s way; his biolights blinked in delight. “There you are, then.”

*

It was really very clever, Prowl thought to himself, how it had all been arranged. He drifted along behind one of the Praxians chosen for the diplomatic venture, listening in on the meaningless words the Iaconian diplomat was wasting; this priest had been paired with someone who clearly liked to exercise their vocabulary, but had little of worth to say. Still, the Praxian priest was nodding and listening politely, and no doubt making notes just in case his elders could find worth in the dross. This more obvious compliment of Shield and Guardians had come along as a smokescreen not only for the Vosians, but for the Praxians best suited for information-gathering and subtlety - there would be a quiet, polite gathering-up of tidbits tonight in the diplomatic quarters, and the Iaconian diplomats sent to distract them would have been shocked to know just how ineffective their distraction tactics had been.

Shaking his head and deciding that this needed no observation, Prowl disengaged from the Praxian and the poor mech’s wordsome companion, orienting himself by the now-familiar feel of Dash’s spark. After speaking with Threadneedle and hearing a first-hand account of the group’s trek through the underdark - a far more dangerous journey than any of them could have imagined, and lucky for them that the Vosian psychopomp’s presence warded off anything that might otherwise have tried its luck - he felt rather protective of the young one and his guardians. That, combined with the tugging urge to speak to the Iaconian psychopomp and compare notes, had had him following the little diplomatic group to Iacon. It had been a long, long time since he had felt the presence of a true Prime’s spark.

His nearest focus was Shimmersea, who’d stopped a passer-by to ask for directions, and they’d wound up gossipping about Iacon like old friends.

“What about the temples?” the mech was suggesting. “Iacon’s got ‘em on every corner, but the big one - the Deep Temple - it sees loads of tourists. Bet there’s something interesting for bitlets to see too.”

“Maybe we should see it,” Shimmersea mused. “I wonder how it compares to the one in Praxus. Have you been there?”

The mech shook his head. “Not really a Primus kinda mech,” he admitted. “I just visited the outer courtyard to listen to the musicians play.”

Shimmersea’s optics brightened with interest. “Musicians? Now that does sound like something our party would be interested in. Thank you for the recommendation.”

“No problem,” the mech laughed, and waved a casual goodbye as he continued on his way. “Have fun!”

“Shimmer?” Thundersong called, one hand on Dusk’s shoulder as they waited at the side of the carriageway. “Any luck?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact.” Shimmersea headed back to them, smoothly moving between a dizzying variety of frametypes - Iacon had been flooded with visitors since Orion had been named Prime, and likely would be until after the still-distant Treks. It would be the first time in an age that a true Prime had overseen the ceremonies. Outside of the Senate and away from the Prime’s Compound, it was easy to see how many people lived and worked and came to gawk in Iacon - it felt like a holiday instead of a diplomatic visit, for all that it made Safeguard a little twitchy. Shimmersea made it through the passing crowds with barely a bump and smiled.

“Wheeljack, do you think you have the time to visit a Temple with us?”

*

The Deep Temple was beautiful and crowded. Dash tottered along with his hand firmly caught in Carrier’s, trying to stare at everything and everyone at once while Wheeljack talked about the only time he’d ever been to the Temple, back when he’d just been a junior lab assistant fresh off the assembly line.

“I guess I had a lot of questions about the whole concept of a deity,” he recalled, as Dash leaned against Nightlight’s arm to peer at the giant crystal in the center of what they’d been told was the basilica: an inert crystal, as far as he could tell, forged of silicate rather than grown like the Praxian ones. “The poor priest was doing his best, but he got frustrated, and my instructor pulled me out and basically told me to mute it. I hadn’t been back since.” He blink-smiled at Nightlight’s stricken look. “It’s kind of funny looking back on it, honestly. And I met a couple of religiously-inclined people since then who helped me make my peace with the whole thing. I don’t mind being here.”

Indeed, from Prowl’s perspective the cheerful light of Wheeljack’s spark fit in here as contentedly as everyone else did. It was Dash who stood out, as the attention of the Dreaming God fell fully on him for the first time.

If they had come here when Primus had been more wakeful, when the energon in His lines had not been plumbed by a growing populace and drained near-dry, the crystal would have sung a Prime’s welcome to Dash and his family the moment they had entered the Temple - as it had for Optimus Prime. As biased as he may have been towards the little Vosian, Prowl could clearly see how the air changed around him - one small bright spark, glowing with curiousity and empathy and love. The Temple _chimed_ when Primus’ dreaming senses found him, though He didn’t have the energy now to greet the little one properly.

All the same, Prowl couldn’t understand how every priest in the Temple didn’t fall down and acknowledge Dash where he stood.

A wash of energy broke against the edges of his spark-self; Prowl turned, inclining his head the way his own city’s priests did. _Greetings, Hexadecimal._

 _SHIELD OF PRAXUS,_ Hexadecimal greeted him in turn, his optics already settling on the sparkling staring up at Iacon’s crystal as he coalesced beside Prowl. _THY CITY-STATE’S DELEGATION CONTAINS MORE THAN I HAD IMAGINED POSSIBLE._

 _Not until he had arrived at the Temple was I sure,_ Prowl answered, and perhaps he was leaning a little too closely into the familiarity of the other psychopomp’s spark-sense; Hexadecimal shot him a look, all the more forbidding from his being over twice Prowl’s height in the forms they had chosen. _He is spark of the Vosian whose hand he holds. Threadneedle would know more of their family, but they came to my protectorate and the young one_ saw _me._

Hexadecimal’s impressive optical ridge decorations rose, then furrowed in a forbidding scowl as he turned to observe the little one more closely. _SPEAK PLAIN, SHIELD OF PRAXUS,_ he growled, the boom of his voice lowered to a distant thunder. _WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?_

 _He is young,_ Prowl answered softly, his own gaze following the little family as they moved slowly further into the Temple. _And has much yet to learn. But I believe...I am come to think he may be the Chosen to match the Bearer. In time._

Hexadecimal turned back to gaze at the little one anew. Dash had lost interest in the resonance crystal and was now floating just over his Carrier’s head, giggling and wiggling his pedes as Nightlight playfully batted at them. Prowl smiled fondly as he watched; Hexadecimal crossed his arms.

 _OUR LORD CHOOSES WHOM HE WILLS,_ the psychopomp said, which was a polite way of saying he didn’t believe a word of it. _IN THE INTERIM, THOU AND I HAVE OUR DUTIES TO DISCHARGE._

 _Yes,_ Prowl agreed, as Nightlight finally caught his mischevious wigglebit by the ankle and reeled him in for a hug. _But I cannot but feel blessed that he has come to my protectorate._

Hexadecimal harrumphed. Wheeljack started leading them further into the Deep Temple, playing the chirpy tour guide to his friends’ amusement, and the Vosians filed in after him. Dash, seated on Nightlight’s shoulder, turned around and waved, beaming brightly.

Prowl waved back in unconcern as Hexadecimal stared, uncharacteristically speechless. After a moment, he too lifted a hand in greeting to the future Chosen.

 _You see?_ Prowl murmured, a faint smile lingering on his face as Dash turned back to his Carrier and his family. After a pause, Hexadecimal nodded slowly, his hand lowering to the impressive facial decoration at his chin.

 _I BELIEVE I DO,_ came his slow reply.

*

It took a while for Dash to be sure, but a few glances at Safeguard convinced him. Somebody was following them through the Temple, and Safeguard knew about it. Dash was pretty sure that if it was a bad thing then Fly-by-Night and Safeguard would fix it, and he didn’t think that Prowl and Prowl’s friend would let something really bad happen in a place that belonged to more priests, but he’d had to live with cousins affecting his life for too long not to _look._

Safeguard catching his optic and giving him a reassuring sort of smile didn’t change his mind, but it did make him feel a little better.

One of the priests had come over when they saw a bunch of Vosians wandering around in the Temple, and Skydance had lit up at the chance to ask some questions - the tall priest looked sort of appalled that none of them had much of an opinion about Primus, but then they did seem to take things a lot more seriously in Iacon than they had in Praxus. On the other hand, Dash kind of wanted to ask the nice Praxian priests the same questions that Skydance was asking the priest here, just to see if they got a different answer. This one was getting a bit huffy.

As if reading his thoughts, Nightlight gave him a squeeze. “Different from Praxus, isn’t it?” he murmured.

“Uh-huh.” Dash patted Nightlight’s helm. “...The decorations are pretty,” he added, because he’d made a promise to himself to say one nice thing about everywhere they went. ...some places were easier to say nice things about than others.

“Yes, they’re very grand.” Dash could hear a smile in Nightlight’s voice. “The priests here care for their Primus very much, just like the Praxian priests do.”

“Mhm.” Dash looked around again. Safeguard had an audial tipped toward them, but eir optics were elsewhere, focused on one of the colonnades that lined the hall. Dash looked too, and saw a short, spiky mech painted all in grey and black leaning against it, his arms crossed.

Their optics met, and Dash blinked in surprise as the pointy mech gave him a short nod of acknowledgement.

“Safeguard?” he asked quietly, well aware of his carrier tilting his head to listen too. “Is that good or bad?”

“Hmm.” Safeguard made a little wobble with eir hand, an unsteady flier finding their balance - Dash had learned the gesture from eir, after all. “A good thing, I think. I’ll need to check.”

“An intriguing thing,” Fly-by-Night murmured - both Dash and Nightlight startled, though Safeguard only smiled slightly. “You won’t need to inquire very far. That mech is the second to the Lord Protector - his bodyguard and chief agent.”

Nightlight’s optics brightened slightly in confusion. “Why would he be following us? Never mind that, why would he let us know he’s there?”

“Maybe ‘cause he knows Safeguard knew he was there,” Dash said reasonably, and wiggled when Safeguard looked pleased. Then another thought occurred to him and he blurted out “Carrier, can I go talk to him?”

Nightlight very nearly wobbled where he stood. “Talk to him?”

“If he’s the Lord Protector’s Safeguard, then he’s good, and the Lord Protector is Orion’s friend,” Dash said sensibly. “And it’s not fair the Lord Protector wasn’t on the mural.”

“Well,” Nightlight said very faintly. “I suppose that’s a good point, bitlet.”

He let Dash slip down, and Dash wormed through the crowd until he stood before the Lord Protector’s bodyguard. “Hello,” he said, and the mech blinked at him.

“...hey,” he said to the uptilted, curious face.

“Why don’t you come talk to us?” Dash offered. “Everyone’s nice, and I don’t think _you’re_ a cousin.”

“...huh?”

“A cousin - you know, people who are all fake-nice and make you feel all small and you can’t just tell them to go away because they think they’re important.” The explanation came out in a rush. “Like my Carrier’s family, or, or Daybreak and Regalia and that one pink person, um - um-”

“Umbrage?” the bodyguard guessed. When Dash nodded, he grinned without hiding it. “Right, I get you.” Dash beamed and held out a hand, and the bodyguard gripped it in the traditional Iacon greeting - only to blink again when Dash tugged him away from the pillar he’d been leaning against.

“I’m Dash,” the little one said, towing him back to his family, “what’s your name?”

“...Drift. I work for Lord Protector Megatron,” he added as the two of them joined the Vosians. Wheeljack gave him an impressed look.

“Why did Megatron send his agent to watch us?” Fly-by-Night asked, his voice calm and curious rather than accusing.

Drift shifted uncomfortably, glancing down at Dash cheerily swinging their hands. “Didn’t ask. I’d guess it’s ‘cause you got Prime’s attention, so he’s interested in you.”

“He’s nice,” Dash said when the adult Vosians paused to glance at each other. Dawn, Haze and Dusk wormed their way around to peer up at Drift, Haze propping hir chin on Dash’s helm to stare more easily. Drift shifted a little uneasily, but didn’t try to pull his hand away with so many adult Vosians watching.

“Guess so. He doesn’t know about Umbrage yet, but Megatron does. He wasn’t impressed.”

“Ah,” Fly-by-Night murmured, and Safeguard nodded; Dash’s carrier looked rather lost, but Shimmersea and Thundersong were giving each other satisfied, slightly vicious little smiles. Skydance glanced back to the gathering from where he was _still_ questioning his priest, said something that must have been blithely cheerful, from his smile, and trotted back over to them; the priest he’d been talking to wobbled on his pedes, then staggered off in search of a strong drink.

“So does that mean you’re going to be sticking around?” Wheeljack was asking as Skydance rejoined them, “Or are you going to do the whole lurking thing again?”

Drift snorted, more in affront for his professional pride than anything else. “Not _lurking_ when the tiny could pick me out. Call me your social bodyguard. Won’t get another Umbrage pestering you if they know Megatron’s got annoyed at the whole thing.”

Fly-by-Night’s smile was small and thin, satisfied as a vibroknife, and Safeguard nodded a polite thank-you to the small groundframe. “Well,” Nightlight said faintly, “thank you, then. You would be more than welcome to keep us company, if you’d like to?”

Drift might have said no, but another small hand slipping into his made him startle - four sparklings beamed hopefully at him, and the utterly unnerved expression that briefly flitted across his face was one that Nightlight’s trine would pick apart in the privacy of their own rooms much later. Dawn smiled up at him and squeezed his hand again, and Drift glanced between them and up at the adults - _help!_

“...sure,” he managed, and allowed himself to be led off with all the bad grace of a twitchy cybercat.

*

After the basilica was the shrine, where a small group of singers were chanting a lay to Primus. Thundersong wasn’t all that impressed, but Dash was delighted. He - and quick to follow, the other little ones - soon picked up the tune and sang along with them, their chirping voices melding sweetly with the lower, calmer chants of the singing priests. Wheeljack was delighted, his biolights blinking on and shining brightly; the adult Vosians were bursting with pride, and even the few stolen glances from the singing priests were amused and fond rather than censurous. 

Dash’s voice pulsed sweetly through planes of existence inaccessible to living mechs and hit the psychopomps with the force of a solar flare. Prowl had to sit down, hard, overwhelmed; Hexadecimal wiped at his optic with a shaking hand.

“Well done, sweetsparks,” Thundersong murmured, patting their helms as the priests filed out of the room with gentle smiles and nods of thanks. “That was lovely.”

Haze beamed up at him - the little one wasn’t as interested or socially expected to learn to sing as the others, but Haze enjoyed spending time with hir friends and sometimes sat in on their lessons when Nightlight and his teaching time were the only available minders. Dawn and Dusk glowed, and Dash bounced happily - the praise was, admittedly, all that kept him from noticing the rather wobbly psychopomps behind them.

“Do you think they would mind if we sang something else here?” Dawn asked. “It’s a nice space to do it. It echoes.”

“It does, doesn’t it.” Thundersong looked around; the shrine was emptying out, the few other visitors apparently having been there to listen to the singers and not precocious Vosian sparklings. They shouldn’t be disturbing anyone if the sparklings wanted to try singing something else. “Something little, then. We don’t want to bother anyone who wants to come in and make their own respects here.”

Dawn lit up, and the other littles were right behind her.

As Thundersong got the tinybits settled and chose a short scale for them to play around with, Drift eased back from the main group and settled himself against one of the ever-present pillars ringing the wall of the little shrine. He leaned back, arms folded across his chest, and let a small, faint smile curve one corner of his mouth. “Not bad, I guess.”

“Hrm.” 

His visitor lurked - professionally - and Drift kept his tone low and conversational as he reported in. “Bunch of civvies. Guard’s good; grey and red one’s creepy enough to be a pro. Noble’s soft over the little red one. Purple one’s Ratchet’s kind of politician, from what I hear - hasn’t said much. Two little fliers are hers. Last two are some kinda artists. Seems like they really are just tourists.”

That earned him a low, contemplative rumble, and Drift shifted his backstruts against the column he leant against to appreciate the sound - not too much, since he _was_ still on duty. His visitor didn’t offer anything more, and Drift kept his optics on the Vosians, where they should be.

The twins and Dash, emboldened by their earlier success and the praise of their elders, quickly moved from scales to something more complicated and Haze followed along gamely, always quick to pick up a new skill. Wheeljack asked permission to add a backbeat, and at Thundersong’s nod he tapped and beat at his own chest to produce different sounds. The little singers, startled at first, quickly grew to love Wheeljack’s percussion and were bouncing along to it in short order, their song given more energy by their excitement.

“What about him?” Drift’s visitor asked.

“Wheeljack. Helped Prime get the info he’s beating the Academy directors over the helm with.” Drift’s mouth curled. “Some kinda engineer. Harmless.”

“Engineers are rarely harmless,” the visitor pointed out, but it was delivered wryly, hardly a rebuke at all.

The sparklings’ song ended, and the singers flung themselves at their percussionist for hugs - Wheeljack was rather startled at antigrav-equipped little huggers, but just like the sparklings he adapted quickly and scooped armfuls of giggling sparklings out of the air for hugs. “That was great,” he cheered, “you were great, such amazing singers! Thanks for letting me play with you, I haven’t gotten to do that in such a long time!”

“Welcome!” the littles chorused, with a chime of “Thank you too!” from Dawn. Shimmersea beamed proudly and praised her for her good manners, and the shrine rang with the sounds of delighted sparklings and proud creators.

After a moment, Dash wiggled down to run over to Drift, latching onto his hands; his visitor withdrew. “Did you like it?” he grinned.

Drift held carefully still. “Yeah, it was - nice,” he said awkwardly, then remembered Shimmersea’s reaction from before and imitated Dawn. Fitting in couldn’t hurt. “Thanks for letting me listen.” 

Dash grinned and peered around the corner. “Did you like it too, mister? ...wow, you’re huge. I bet you’re bigger than Orion.”

There was a startled pause, then a rueful, rumbling chuckle as the mech moved forward into the shrine’s dim light. “I am, little one, as a matter of fact. Thankfully neither of us mind.”

Drift snorted with an amusement that Dash didn’t quite understand - besides, he was too busy leaning back to see all of the huge mech moving out of the shadows. Tall, broad-shouldered, gunmetal grey dashed with black and red and optics a deeper scarlet than Drift’s orange...

Dash lit up. “You’re him! You’re Orion’s friend that didn’t get to be in the mural!”

The big mech chuckled again, the sound a distant thunder that rumbled softly around the shrine. The rest of Dash’s family glanced over at the sound, and more than one pair of optics shot wide with recognition - Dash didn’t notice, too busy beaming at finally getting to meet the one mech he’d been looking for. “It’s kind of a terrible mural,” he said confidingly, and beamed again as Drift snickered.

“It certainly is,” Megatron replied.

Nightlight made a single, small noise, a half-stifled squeak, then had to lean very heavily on Thundersong’s arm. Shimmersea couldn’t keep the twins and Haze from rushing over to peer at the Lord Protector without betraying even the slightest hint of fear, so she went with them instead, putting on a welcome smile. “Lord Megatron, you honor us with your presence,” she said, inclining her head as the little ones stared at heavy plating and huge, scarred hands. “I hope our young ones did not disturb your devotionals.”

Drift turned an inelegant sound into an engine-cough, and Megatron smirked. “I wasn’t _devoting,_ so there was nothing to disturb. You must be Shimmersea - I heard about your little exchange with one Umbrage.”

“I regret the necessity,” Shimmersea answered coolly, and Drift snorted again.

“Regret?” Megatron repeated. “I’ve seen thousand-season gladiators who strike with less skill. I don’t suppose I can convince you to stay in Iacon.”

For once in her life, Shimmersea was momentarily speechless. She pressed an elegant hand to her cockpit, then inclined her head. “I’m flattered, but my place is at Grace Nightlight’s side.”

“Pity.” Megatron turned his regard to Nightlight himself then, and Nightlight felt his wings stiffen under that hot red gaze, like looking into a forge and just as dangerous. “Nightlight, is it? I’ve heard of you as well.”

Nightlight tried not to cringe. “That - surprises me, Lord Protector.”

“Does it?” Megatron tilted his head, heavy with a thick, smoothly-curved helm, the better to turn aside blows. “Born to wealth and power, you turned your back on it all and embraced the least and lowest of your society, even going so far as to have a very un-Vosian sparkling. When you were forced into exile, you established a new community in Praxus and singlehandedly introduced a new dimension to their economy. You are one of those on Cybertron who sows revolution wherever you go, Nightlight. Iacon is honored by your presence - or it would be if it knew at all what was good for it.”

Nightlight stared at him, utterly flummoxed by the praise and not even sure where to _begin_ setting the Lord Protector straight - it wasn’t like that at all, he made Nightlight sound like some sort of hero when he’d lived his life running from terror and loneliness! - when a small, proud voice piped up. “I am _too_ a Vosian sparkling!” Dash declared hotly, jetting up to glare the Lord Protector down. “You should get your optics checked!”

“Dash-!” Nightlight made a grab for him and hauled him down, panicking so much his optics went white - but rather than punish Dash for his daring, Megatron did a second inexplicable thing.

He started to laugh.

Drift was grinning, openly, his sharp denta fascinating Haze in between darting glances at both the laughing Lord Protector and glowering Dash. Both arms locked around his sparkling, Nightlight shook with the urge to throw himself into the air, and only the old rules beaten into his helm kept his pedes on the floor - the more the Lord Protector laughed, the higher the whine of his engines rose. Drift noticed first, the flicker of confusion in his optics turning to alarm.

“Boss,” he said, quiet but enough to cut Megatron’s amusement short. Bright optics turned back to Nightlight, but the Lord Protector’s slightly fierce grin faded at Nightlight’s defensive curl around his little one. Shimmersea put a protective hand on Nightlight’s shoulder and he managed not to do more than twitch, but even that abortive movement was too much to hide from Megatron’s sharp optics.

“Is it your sparkling you believe I would hurt,” he said, his voice remarkably even, “or yourself?”

Nightlight’s vocaliser wouldn’t boot back up again, his wings flinching in as his wingmates rushed to his side; the Lord Protector had it all wrong, had everything wrong about him, and when the powerful were wrong they took it out on anyone who spoke out, only silence was safe- 

Dash squirmed in his arms, his field flaring in distress and his anxious voice rising past the barrier Nightlight’s plating made.

“He’s not cousins! He’s not cousins, he’s _nice!_ ”

Megatron and Drift shared a familiar, disconcerted look at that - ‘that’s a new one on me.’ Megatron very deliberately stepped back and averted his gaze, allowing Nightlight room to take a desperate gasp of atmosphere through his vents as Thundersong and Shimmersea rubbed his back. Bit by bit, Nightlight’s grip on Dash loosened.

This was the second time he’d had a panic attack in front of Cybertron’s new ruling dyad. What was _wrong_ with him?

“Not cousins,” Dash whispered, stroking Nightlight’s helm the way Thundersong was stroking his back. “Not any cousins here. If any cousins show up I’ll make ‘em go away for you.”

Nightlight gave a watery smile. “Thank you, Dashlet.” He nuzzled noses with his sparkling, knowing he had to face Megatron again but for now there was his baby, there was safety, there was peace. He’d hang onto it as long as he could.

Fly-by-Night, his wing shielding Nightlight and Dash from the Lord Protector, gave Megatron a faint smile. “I don’t disagree with you about Nightlight’s accomplishments, my lord - but there is always a cost.” Megatron’s optics flickered, and he nodded in - perhaps not understanding, but certainly acknowledgement. It was enough for Nightlight to try again, to press his cheek against Dash’s and raise his head a little.

“I’m not - I’m not sure what you were expecting.” He winced and reset his vocaliser again, and this time the words were louder than a whisper. “I’m not - revolutionary. I’m not trying for anything even close to what you and Orion have already done.”

His vents hitched, trying to find the words as another surge of panic warned him away from sounding too critical, of Megatron’s opinions or the dyad’s accomplishments together. “I. I just. Needed - Dash to be safe. And my family. Vos - the Highest Family would never let us go. We had to run. If I was brave-”

Skydance let out an indignant noise, his hands resting gently against Nightlight’s back, and Megatron’s optics snapped to the other flier with a neutral watchfulness that swept right over Skydance’s head. ‘Dance knew better than to say anything aloud when Nightlight was panicking, and instead pressed hands and plating and field against Nightlight’s. _We’re here. We’ve got you. I’ve got your back._ The non-verbal reassurance helped, and Nightlight’s vents drew in cooler air.

“If I was brave,” Nightlight continued, level and more steady now. “I would have challenged my siblings and cousins for the Heirship. I would have fought to be the Winglord after Ephemeris and changed Vos myself. Instead I - I ran. I’m not strong enough to pull Vos along in my wake.”

“Are too brave,” Dash muttered loyally, and Nightlight squidged him tight for a moment, grateful but still not calm enough to respond in kind. Megatron’s optics dimmed, one finger tapping on the opposite arm as he turned Nightlight’s words over in his head.

“There is,” he said at last, “more than one kind of courage. And more than one way to change the world. That is something I did learn from Orion. ...don’t tell him I said that,” he added with a narrow look, and Nightlight quickly nodded. “History will not record what you could have done, or what you should have done - only what you _did do,_ and that, I assure you, is worthy of praise.”

His optics turned to Dash next. “And - I am sorry, little one,” he said with the kind of gravity that meant he was still very, very amused. “I should not have said you were un-Vosian. Am I forgiven?”

Dash, bless his tiny spark, beamed immediately. “Uh-huh. An’ you don’t need your optics checked, they’re nice. Friends?”

“Friends.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a somewhat dreaded party, a somewhat more... _intimate_ party, and the Vosians bid goodbye to Iacon with a sigh of relief. Skydance does battle with cutlery, Legate does battle with speeches, and Nightlight does battle with a few old insecurities.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We finally have our internet back! For the past week and a half we've been fighting to get it back up on the regular, and last week's chapter was posted in a scramble from the local library. ANYWAY. In this chapter there is mention of sexual things happening in a group of people, Night getting anxious over the fact and being very uncomfortable with the idea that he's being thought of as a sexual kind of person, then gradually giving it a try himself. No coercion, but there's a fair bit of baggage that Night is...kind of skirting around, at first.

With very few exceptions, the overriding opinion of the Vosian party was that leaving Iacon would be a relief. The Praxian delegation spent the remainder of their time in the city spreading out delicate tendrils of intelligence gathering, picking out truth from gossip and testing the gentle sway of public opinion. Nightlight, personally, would have been happy to hide in the quarters they had been allocated in the Prime’s Compound and not come out, but he managed to smile and go along with the various amusements his trinemates and the others found for each other. He knew they were concerned, and he had found himself coaxed into recharging in between Skydance and Thundersong more often than not after their rather alarming first meeting with the Lord Protector. 

The mech himself had disappeared after their - mercifully short - interview, and with the benefit of hindsight Nightlight thought that perhaps Megatron hadn’t quite meant to be discovered. Clearly he had no experience of sparkling curiousity. Drift certainly didn’t, and Skydance reported that Drift had oscillated between faintly alarmed and cautiously tolerant until he had a good reason to excuse himself. Despite that uneasiness around the smaller members of their party, Megatron’s bodyguard had paused beside Dash and taken his gauntlet in a brief handclasp before leaving, muttering something like ‘keep it up, kid’ as he went.

Dash had been thrilled.

Now, however, with scant few cycles left before they were due to leave Iacon for Praxus, Nightlight had been invited to one more meeting with the Prime and some of his closer advisors. 

“A casual meeting,” the messenger had said; one of the more polite diplomats, but their optics still raked over Nightlight’s plating in a way he wasn’t sure he liked. Daybreak and Regalia hadn’t been seen since that first day, but Nightlight’s wings still flicked uncomfortably.

Safeguard followed him along the corridors, shadowing his every step, and that gave Nightlight the courage to smile as he reached the assigned door.

If Legate hadn’t drawn Nightlight and Safeguard aside and explained to them what ‘casual meeting’ meant, what to expect, and that he would _not_ be expected to participate, Nightlight might have had a full-blown panic attack upon opening the door, fled immediately and refused to have anything to do with Iacon or its Prime ever again. As it was, only a slight wingtwitch betrayed his anxiety as he sat across from Orion’s chaise longue, which he was sharing with two smaller and very handsy worker-models. Orion offered him a smile and a cube of energon, which Nightlight accepted, and a connector, which he withdrew immediately when Nightlight shook his head.

“Megatron tells me he ran into you in the Deep Temple,” he said, almost idly stroking the helmfins of one of his berth partners.

Nightlight hesitated, then blurted, “I don’t think it was quite that accidental.”

“You may be right,” Orion allowed. “Megatron always has to be interested in whatever I’m doing. I apologize if he startled you.”

Nightlight managed a smile. “Dash was very taken with him.”

Orion chuckled. “A fact which startled him to no end, I am sure.”

Nightlight hummed his response, not entirely sure what the best response would be - ‘he and his bodyguard looked like they had never seen a sparkling in their lives’ was probably stating the obvious. That gave Orion a politely-timed break for introductions, which probably shouldn’t have surprised Nightlight at all after knowing Orion for more than a click.

“Ah - let me introduce you to Ariel and Dion, friends and advisors of mine. Ariel-” The pink groundframe nodded to him, her impish grin inspiring an answering smile from Nightlight; “-and Dion, this is Nightlight. He and his family are visiting us with the Praxian delegation.” 

“Nice to meet you,” the more heavily-built grounder said, and it was no chore for Nightlight to turn his smile on Dion too.

“A pleasure,” he said politely, keeping his optics on the mech’s face and not where his hand was venturing. “It’s good to meet more of Orion’s friends.”

Ariel snickered. “I second that. He’s been enthusing about this visit for a while now, it’s good to see who’s got him so intrigued.”

Nightlight felt his field sizzle with embarrassment, reaching out for Safeguard’s with an instinctive need to check the other Vosian was still there. Eir familiar serene reassurance met his anxious field, and Nightlight rebooted his vocaliser as that comfort rebooted his nerve. “Safeguard has been acting as our bodyguard for some time now - ei is part of our family unit as well.”

Safeguard inclined eir helm respectfully - to the Prime, nominally, but his friends were included in the gesture. Across the room, the heavy-armored model who Nightlight assumed was Orion’s bodyguard glanced up. He and Safeguard traded shorter, professional nods.

“What did you want to talk about?” Nightlight asked, resettling his attention on the lounging hauler-class.

“Nothing worldshaking, I promise.” Orion gave him a smile. “Mostly I just wanted the rest of my friends to get a chance to meet you before you left. Ratchet and Ironhide should be here any astrosecond, and they haven’t had the time to meet you properly.”

“Who?” Nightlight hoped he didn’t look as lost as he sounded.

Ariel grinned. “The two old-timers who’re hopelessly in love with ‘Rion.”

“Ariel…” Orion actually sounded _bashful,_ which was a neat trick with his hand on her aft. “They’re very dear to me, but that’s overstating it a bit, isn’t it?” Ariel rolled her optics and mouthed ‘oblivious!’ at Nightlight, teasing a smile out of him.

“Ratchet was the hospital representative to the Senate,” Dion explained. “Now he’s Orion’s personal physician as well as one of his advisors as regards health care in the city. Ironhide’s his chief bodyguard and military advisor.”

“Both of them take their duties _very_ seriously,” Ariel added with a lascivious grin. “Guarding their Prime’s body.”

 _“Ariel,”_ Orion groaned, and Ariel laughed, flinging her arms around him.

“I think we might have met Ironhide already,” Nightlight tried, casting his mind back before the enthusiastic hugging on the chaise longue threatened its structural stability. “Wasn’t he with us at the Hall of Records?” After some poking at his memory banks after the fact, Nightlight had satisfied himself that they had been told at least the head bodyguard’s name as they set off and tried to remember it in case they met again. That hadn’t come about, but at least it helped keep him in the conversation now.

This time it was Orion’s turn to hum assent, but in his case it was because Ariel had...pressed her mouth against his. Nightlight blinked, faintly confused, and tried not stare at them - maybe it was an Iaconian peculiarity.

“Going off on kind of a tangent,” Dion said, patting Orion’s thigh and sliding down from the hauler-sized seat. “Can I ask something that might be kind of - either weird or awkward?”

Nightlight hesitated and did his best to sound diplomatic. “Well, in the name of cultural appreciation, I can try and answer. What was the question?”

It was sort of charming, how honestly hopeful Dion looked. Almost shy, if anything. “I was wondering - do you need to transform to fly? We don’t see many flightframes down at the docks, but I heard you can just...” He made a vague fluttery gesture, as though his powerful hands were helping a sparkling into the air, and Nightlight couldn’t help smiling.

“Is that all?” He stood, almost half as tall again as Dion and hunching a little apologetically when he realised as much. “No, I can lift off as easily as...” A gentle nudge of his antigravs and Nightlight pushed off, drifting just over Dion’s head and bending at the waist to smile at the other mech’s awestruck expression. “That. Although that’s thanks to antigravs rather than thrusters. If I wanted to really hurry, I would use those - transforming makes them more efficient, with the lower friction involved.”

“Wow,” Dion breathed, and reached up to brush his fingertips lightly down Nightlight’s ankle. Nightlight gasped slightly and twitched his legs out of reach, and Orion reached up to take Dion’s hand. 

“Ask first,” he reminded his friend, gently but firmly.

Dion winced. “Sorry, Nightlight. I lost my head a little.”

It helped, Nightlight reflected, to see Orion take the rules regarding bodily autonomy so seriously. “It’s all right,” he said, drifting back down and finding his seat again, his pedes tucked a little self-consciously under his chair. His _But please don’t do that again_ went politely unsaid.

“But that’s amazing,” Dion continued. “Orion and I were always talking about how much more we could get done if we could fly.”

“You talked about how much more we could get done,” Orion put in. “I was more interested in its less practical applications.”

This was something Nightlight had never considered - how groundframes saw fliers. Did they envy him? Did they expect him to be stuck up, consider himself above them figuratively as well as literally? The looks Dion was throwing him were openly interested - not the ‘piece of metal in a shop window’ interest of the Senate diplomats, but a sweet, open appreciation that was… rather flattering.

He caught Orion’s optic, and Orion was giving him a more steady, calmer version of the same appreciative look. Warmth flushed through his systems and he glanced back down quickly, flustered but not displeased. “Well,” he said, picking up his cube for something to do with his hands. “I couldn’t speak as to its practicality, I’m afraid, but it is convenient at times.”

Dion’s optics irised open wide. “Just convenient? Really? If I got antigravs you couldn’t keep me down!”

“I’ve decided I quite like walking, actually. We’ve not been living in Praxus long enough for the novelty to have worn off yet and it makes an interesting change.” 

“That’s - wow. Does Vos not have any walkways, then?”

Nightlight started to describe how one could get around in Vos, glad all over again that he knew at least one architect who loved their work enough that he could pick up a few of the technical terms from sheer exposure; before Dion could do more than listen raptly and have his optics turn the slightest bit glassy thanks to the connection still in place between himself and Orion, another two mechs came through the main door. Orion sat up happily, Ariel easily moving with her perch as the big mech shifted.

“Ironhide, Ratchet! Nightlight, these are the friends I spoke of. It’s good to see you both.”

The stocky red mech nodded briefly to Nightlight - it _was_ the same guardsmech he remembered, and Nightlight spared a moment from his resurgence of nerves to be grateful - before heading to Orion’s lounger. “Hey there. Shove over, Ariel, there’s plenty room up there.”

“Be my guest,” Ariel replied with a gracious wave of her hand; Ironhide only snorted and swung a leg over Orion’s spare thigh. Orion greeted him with a hand on his waist and a brief but passionate act of mouths-touching-together. _What a strange thing to do,_ Night thought briefly.

“So you’re Nightlight.” The second newcomer, whose construction was a curious mix of road-warrior and information-processing model, pulled up a chair and collapsed into it with a huff of vents. “What a day,” he complained faintly, and Dion moved around behind him to press helpful hands into his shoulders. “Mmm, that’s nice. I’m Ratchet,” he added, and Nightlight blinked.

“Oh - Orion’s physician. It’s nice to meet you.”

Ratchet smiled. He was an older model, now that Nightlight looked, his face seamed with age and care, but he was well-maintained and exuded an aura of strength and confidence as he clasped Nightlight’s gauntlet in greeting. Nightlight could easily see how such a mech gained the confidence of the most powerful - and the busiest - person on Cybertron. “You too,” Ratchet offered. “I’ve been hearing a lot about you. If half of what I’ve heard is true, I can see why you’ve gained Orion’s trust.”

“Why does everyone keep flattering me?” Nightlight complained faintly, and Ratchet chuckled along with Dion.

“We could flatter you a lot more if you wanted,” Dion offered with a cheery grin. “You know, like acclimatising yourself to it. It’s for science!”

“Science.”

“Youngin’s got a point there,” Ratchet said, all innocence. “Our friend over there likes you enough to invite you along, not just ‘cause you’re pretty.”

At a loss for anything to say, Nightlight hid his face in his hands.

“Ehhh,” Ratchet hazarded when Nightlight didn’t reappear after a moment or two. “Too much?”

Nightlight reminded himself to cycle. “...a little,” he found himself admitting. “I’m just not - I’m _not._ ”

It was a pathetic attempt to express the conflict in his spark, but Ratchet seemed to understand. “We’ll back off,” he promised. “Dion, how’s that side project of yours coming along?”

Dion seized on the subject like a hungry turbocanid, speaking rapidly yet thoughtfully about the process of negotiating between the bosses and the worker’s union on the Iacon docks. Many of his ideas, he said, came from Megatron’s stories of the workers’ revolution in Kaon, but he was hoping to use the stronger legal system in Iacon to avoid coming to blows with the city’s forces.

“Strikes are okay for a lot of industries,” he said thoughtfully, “but we’re offloading energon and supplies. If we stop work, it’s our tier and below that go without, not the Senators. Is that good?” he added as Ratchet responded to his rubbing with a groan of pleasure. “You like that spot rubbed?”

“Harder,” the medic requested, and Dion obligingly put his back into the massage, wringing another groan from him.

“This is what happens when you carry a lot of stress around like he does,” he explained to a fascinated Nightlight.

Nightlight nodded. “Wing-massage parlours are a thriving industry in Vos for the same reason.”

“Yeah?” Dion looked intrigued, and a little shiver ran through his frame at a suspect sort of noise from the chaise longue in response. “All else aside, could I ask you what works for tense fliers later? If we’re lucky, maybe we’ll get more frametypes mixing down at the docks. Increase our shipping links.”

“All right,” Nightlight said cautiously, but all Dion did was beam at him and go back to enthusiastically working over Ratchet’s shoulders. 

And then down Ratchet’s arms.

And then he reached Ratchet’s hands.

Nightlight didn’t know where to look.

“...hey. You okay?”

The voice came close to his audial, and Nightlight almost startled out of his chair. “What?” he yelped, clutching the arm and lurching around - thankfully away from Dion with Ratchet’s fingers in his mouth, and the noises he really wasn’t sure about from the chaise longue. The heavily-armoured bodyguard had crossed the room and was leaning over him, but the spike of panic through Nightlight’s systems couldn’t cloud his optics - the mech was a youngling, with a youngling’s bright optics, and a youngling’s entire lack of tact.

The bodyguard leaned back immediately, lifting a hand. “Sorry, sorry!” he yelped, as much to Safeguard as to Nightlight. “I didn’t mean to surprise you. You just looked uncomfortable - you know, you don’t have to stay. Prime’s orders, no one gets a hard time if they need to leave for any reason.”

“I don’t want to go,” Nightlight blurted, and was a bit surprised to find that it was true. Even with the - other activities going on, the environment was surprisingly comfortable. Well, mostly. “...what’s your name? I don’t think I’ve met you yet.”

“Me?” The bodyguard looked surprised to be asked. “Sideswipe. Technically I’m on loan from Megatron - me and my twin kind of alternate our bosses depending on what they need. Sunstreaker tends to glare at people. Great for when Prime’s wrangling Senators, total mood-killer during casual meetings.” He gestured at the chaise lounge, where Ariel and Ironhide were sharing command of a content and purring Orion. “I mean, I’m totally not complaining, here.”

“Mmm.” They certainly looked like they were having fun. Different from Thundersong and Skydance’s nights together, certainly _very_ different from how sexual politics worked among the high-ranking Vosians, but - nice, all the same. Nightlight still wasn’t sure where to look, but Sideswipe’s matter-of-fact manner made it easier for him to peer shyly at the pile of groundframes. They looked...happy.

“So...you not much for joining in, or-? Only I haven’t seen you watching or anything, and you’re all kinds of squirmy when somebody flirts with you.”

Nightlight’s field flared in embarrassment, his frame curling into the back of his chair, and Sideswipe clonked a hand against the side of his own helm in reproof. “Fraggit- sorry! I’m not trying to get at you, honest. Only when we heard there were going to be Vosians coming, we kind of thought - you know, that you flightframes ran hot and all, like our racers do.”

“Not really,” Nightlight managed, his legs curling up half into the chair. “I don’t know where the assumption came from. Someone already asked ‘Dance if- Well, it wasn’t a very _nice_ ask, but then they’re a closed pair-bond and they wouldn’t anyway...”

Sideswipe...deflated, his shoulders drooping and his optics turning mournful. Even if Nightlight had been inclined to be offended, he just couldn’t at that face. “Aw slag me, am I doing that ruining diplomatic relations thing again?”

Before he could catch himself, Nightlight sputtered with a laugh he hadn’t expected and gave the youngling a tentative, hopeful smile. “No, not at all. We could call it cultural exchange, if you like.” Sideswipe lit up, and promptly flopped down beside Nightlight’s chair and leaned against the arm. He would be almost as tall as Night when they were both standing, Nightlight thought distantly, and that made a welcome change both after small Praxian builds and the ruling dyad’s sheer size.

“Awesome! All right, so, you’re not bonded, right? Are grounders just not your thing?”

That did make Nightlight sputter in earnest, though it was partly at not having a ready answer and the panicked sense of being trapped rising again. “No, I- I’m sure you’re all very attractive, but I- I mean-”

“Sideswipe, stop pestering our guest,” Orion ordered in a rather muffled voice, and Nightlight wanted to hide even more when he glanced over.

“I’m not!” Sideswipe protested, then recoiled in dismay when he glanced back at Nightlight’s huddle. “...frag, I am, aren’t I. Can I make it up to you or something? I give great hugs.”

Nightlight rubbed a hand across his face, blinking and trying not to - either laugh or panic, he wasn’t sure which. “How about,” he suggested gently, “trading questions? There are things I’d like to know about you too.”

Sideswipe glanced at Orion, what could be seen of him. “We get to veto questions we don’t want to answer for whatever reason, right? ‘Cause some stuff I can’t talk about, no offense.”

“Of course.” Okay, this Nightlight could work with. His fans began to spin down. “I’ll answer your question to start us off, if you give me a moment.”

Sideswipe nodded, and Nightlight took a slow vent. Nobody else appeared to be paying much attention to them, although he was sure Ratchet was keeping half an audial on him as he enjoyed Dion’s ministrations and Orion probably missed nothing that went on around him no matter whose hands went where. “I’ve never met an Iaconian racer,” he began slowly, “so I couldn’t begin to tell you how an average Vosian’s interface drive compares, but mine has never been very high. I need to be very good friends with someone before I can even begin to be attracted to them, and between my sparkling and coming to Praxus I simply haven’t had the time or energy to cultivate any - um. Personal attachments. Perhaps someday, when Dash is older, it might be nice, but for now…” He shrugged a bit, and Sideswipe made a disappointed face but nodded acceptance.

“That’s a new one on me, but y’know, probably a good thing. Learning and stuff, right? So, uh, ask away.” He gave Nightlight a bright, hopeful grin, and Night couldn’t help a chuckle.

“All right. Um... This is probably a cultural difference, but why have Orion and the others been...” He fluttered one hand a little as he searched for the words, turning in his chair to where Sideswipe had flopped down. “Touching mouths? _Is_ there a reason?”

Sideswipe - blinked, resetting his optics as he glanced at the chaise longue, back to Nightlight, then at the others again. “Touching- uh. You mean kissing?”

“If that’s what it’s called,” Nightlight confirmed, and his field static-prickled again when Sideswipe looked faintly stunned.

“Yeah, that’s kissing. Uh - I dunno, it feels good? I mean, mouths feel good pretty much everywhere else, right?”

Nightlight shifted in his chair, uncomfortable in his own plating all over again, and Sideswipe let out a soft, long sound of realisation.

“Y’know, if you _don’t_ know, you don’t have to like me-like me to try kissing. On the mouth or anywhere else. I hear kissing on the hand’s supposed to be a fancy way of saying hi in some places, but Sunny’s the one you’d need to ask about fancy manners. You wouldn’t think it, but he likes all that stuff. You can kiss people’s helms to tease them or fuss and stuff as well, just ask Ratchet. His bedside manner sucks most of the time so you’d never tell, but he does it. So, what do you think?”

“It sounds like nuzzles,” Nightlight said faintly, swept off his pedes by the current of words. Kissing? Hands? Would he like to-?

 _Would_ he like to?

The eirie hadn’t been safe to try anything new at all, be it a new lesson that Starscream would spoil, a new game that Sunfire would knock over or - anything more personal. Nightlight glanced back at Safeguard again, optics anxious, and received another of those serene smiles and an encouraging, steadying swell of support in eir field.

He didn’t have to. He could say no, and stay with this harmless sort of play. If he wanted...maybe. He could think about it.

“Nuzzles?” Sideswipe was saying, not unaware of Nightlight’s reaction but showing more tact than he had thus far by ignoring it entirely. “So you - what, rub noses or something? How does that work?”

...anxious cramps in his tanks aside, that _was_ a little funny.

“No, no - here, like this.” Nightlight scooted forward onto the edge of the chair’s seat, leaning forward and beckoning Sideswipe a little further around in front of him. “If you were my sparkling, or a close relation, we might greet each other like this...”

He leaned forward, his hands hovering indecisively, before settling his palms to the curved cheek guards of Sideswipe’s helm. He felt more than heard Sideswipe’s vents catch and halt, then metal sleeked against metal as Nightlight’s cheek brushed Sideswipe’s slightly patchy wax.

“Huh,” Sideswipe mused, blinking as Nightlight pulled back. “That’s not bad, but it’s not exactly foreplay.”

Nightlight chuckled. “Well, it’s just another form of showing affection. It could be foreplay with the right attitude.”

“Guess so.” Sideswipe peeked up at him carefully. “So… would you like to try a kiss? Maybe just on the cheek?”

This time, Nightlight hesitated only a few moments before nodding. Sideswipe lit up like a hopeful youngling, but retained enough presence of mind to move in slowly. Nightlight turned his face slightly, and Sideswipe pressed his lips to the proffered cheek. There was warmth and a faint feeling of pressure - then Sideswipe pulled back, leaving Nightlight feeling oddly unsatisfied.

“It’s… nice,” he managed, just to have something to say that wasn’t ‘I don’t see what all the fuss is about’.

Sideswipe gave him a sheepish smile. “Well, a kiss on the cheek is for family. It’s different when it’s on the mouth, there’s more involved in it.”

“ _...oh._ So that was the equivalent of what I just did...um. We don’t really touch mouths, so there isn’t a real equivalent there.”

“Huh. Shame. So - what _do_ you do when you’re interested that way?”

Nightlight hesitated again, then his hands patted absently at the arms of the chair as he weighed his options. After a moment, he slipped down from the chair to settle neatly on the floor in front of Sideswipe, who couldn’t help gaping before grinning and trying to hide it.

“Well,” Nightlight replied, knotting his fingers together before forcing himself to stop, “here. This might be a little awkward.”

It was, but as they shifted and settled and Sideswipe somehow found himself sitting over the Vosian’s lap, it seemed to work. Nightlight felt a little more settled with someone to hold, and Sideswipe shivered as delicate touches traced down his back, finding and following the edges of his plates.

“This is - not something you do in public, unless you want to make a point,” Nightlight said, and then Sideswipe twitched against the urge to duck as the flier lowered his head. Smooth plating rubbed against his cheek, metal sleeking against the swell of his cheek guard, then Nightlight pulled back enough to slide their noses together - more of a slow, smooth nudge than a nuzzle, but Sideswipe’s optics brightened in reflexive surprise and rocked with the motion before Nightlight turned his head to nuzzle over his other cheek in turn. The flier’s fingertips stroked lightly up and down the seams of his armour, up and across his back, down to the line of his backstruts above his pelvic cradle, and Sideswipe found himself rocking gently back and forth with none of the usual ‘facing urgency. This was - this was _nice._

“Make a point, huh?” he rasped, and was shocked at how hoarse he sounded.

“Mmm.” Nightlight pulled back a little, but before Sideswipe could let out a whine and embarrass himself forever, Night rested their forehelms together and rolled them gently side to side, side to side. Sideswipe’s optics promptly dimmed out. “Usually showing off how attractive you and your partner are, or that you just can’t wait to get back to your own quarters. Or theirs. ...that sort of thing.”

“Huh,” Sideswipe mumbled. “Vosian heavy petting.”

Nightlight’s chuckle vibrated against his plating. “I suppose. If Vosians start doing that in front of you, it’s a warning, not an invitation. Unless they explicitly invite you in.”

“How, uh - how likely is that?”

There went the bodyguard’s sheepish grin again and Nightlight thought, without any sense of arousal whatsoever, _what a charming young mech._ He kind of wanted to set Sideswipe up with someone nice, although a young and handsome bodyguard to the Prime and Lord Protector probably had no trouble getting a date. “It depends on the company,” he answered as honestly as he could. “If you’re ever in Praxus, you could come visit us and find out for yourself.”

Sideswipe’s optics went distant and faintly hopeful. “I hope I get the chance soon, then.”

“I don’t know how things might work out for your commanders, but I hope so too,” Nightlight replied honestly. He rather liked the young mech thus far, and certainly wouldn’t mind either introducing him to Praxus or to someone else who could. He hesitated, then reminded himself once again that Safeguard was watching his wings, and asked. “If that’s ‘heavy petting’ in translation, what does the Iaconian version look like?”

Sideswipe promptly lit up, but to his credit he managed to rein his enthusiasm in enough to clarify things. Another point for him, then. “Well, kissing, mostly. On the mouth, using your glossa if you’re into that kind of thing. ...see Orion and Ironhide over there?”

Nightlight obligingly looked, and while his plating prickled at the reminder that they weren’t alone, he didn’t feel _threatened_ by it this time. Orion and his lapful of partners were trading long, slow mouth-touch- no, kisses, and as Ironhide let out a soft, helpless little sound their mouths opened far enough for a wet glimpse of moving glossae past their lips. Nightlight stared, both very confused at the strangeness of it and a touch repulsed at the noises. But - not at the ones coming from the mech’s vocalisers, and he had to admit he was curious just how in the spires it was supposed to feel...

Well, he had his opportunity to find out, didn’t he? When in Iacon...

“You don’t just, you know, shove your glossa in someone’s mouth, that’s gross. And pretty rude. Unless you’re both into the jumping on each other in a hurry thing, which I swear I wouldn’t if you didn’t want, honest-”

“I believe you.” Nightlight smiled at him, and was rather flattered at the hopeful expression he received in return. “Could- Would you show me?”

“Seriously?” Sideswipe blurted, and Nightlight’s field sparked with embarrassed static. His fuel pump started working harder, systems spinning up; he shouldn’t have asked for-!

“Oh wow, no problem. I mean, uh, sure thing. If you want to.”

Nightlight blinked, reality shifting again as he took in Sideswipe nearly vibrating with eagerness. _He really does want to,_ he realized, and because it bore emphasizing from sheer disbelief - _With me._

His fans didn’t slow, his nervousness didn’t go anywhere, but there was a fluttery anticipation in his spark as Sideswipe leaned in.

It wasn’t that different from Vosian nuzzling - a warm glide over sensitive plating, the warmth of Sideswipe’s mouth more intense than his cheek but the scent of his wax and metal were just as strong. Sideswipe pulled back slowly, sliding his nose along Nightlight’s as they separated - he was clearly a quick learner, and Nightlight certainly approved - and blinked his optics to full brightness again.

“How was that?” he asked, his voice slightly husked.

Nightlight ran his glossa over his lower lip thoughtfully. “...it’s interesting.” Sideswipe deflated and Nightlight tried not to laugh. “That wasn’t me trying to let you down gently. It might take a little time for me to really decide how I feel about kissing, but my practice partner leaves nothing to be desired.”

“Fair enough,” Sideswipe allowed, his smile returning, “...and, thanks. You’re not bad for a beginning kisser.”

Despite the strangeness of it all, Nightlight’s smile brightened - the ever-shifting fields around him seemed comforting now instead of judgemental in their arousal, the soft sliding sounds of metal against metal understandable, a smooth background noise he could almost ignore. Ratchet hummed throatily behind him, Dion sighing in counterpoint as they moved together; Orion’s engine growled as Ironhide snickered at something, Ariel’s voice a low murmur interspersed with the quiet tic-tic-shush of lips brushing audials as she shifted around between the two of them. They were undoubtedly keeping tabs on him and Sideswipe, but it felt _safe_ knowing that - Safeguard was here, silent and unobtrusive, eir field meshing quietly with the others’ as a harmonious counterpoint to the rising warmth. Familiarity, unhurried comfort, mouths and fields and frames merging with the ease of feeling _safe._

It felt both like nothing Nightlight had experienced before, and like sinking into a pile of his family to recharge at the end of a long day.

“Maybe I still need a little more practise,” he suggested with shy daring, and his spark leaped at Sideswipe’s eager grin.

***

//Sideswipe.//

//Mmm~?//

//What.//

//...what, what?//

//You know what. You’re all... _floaty._ Did you slack off on duty again?//

//Noooo way. I had relief cover me, it was fine.//

//.....//

//Hey. Hey, you’ll never guess what.//

//...what.//

//Well, maybe more like who...//

//...did you get distracted and frag around with Orion again?//

//No! ...I was totally not distracted, and it wasn’t Orion.//

//Slaggit, Sides-!//

//Hey, if a kind of adorable Vosian ambassador wants kissing lessons, a gentlemech does not disappoint.//

//...you cheeky fragger.//

//You know I love you best, Suns~//

//You’d better, the slag you put me through.//

*

Nightlight would have much rather stayed back at the suite with Safeguard and Dash, but having become Orion’s friend meant that he was somehow the guest-of-honor for the farewell dinner. If that honour had meant sharing fuel with Orion and his friends, Nightlight was fairly sure no-one would have been the least bit perturbed - if that had expanded to include the Praxian diplomats, it may have been a little more formal, but at least it would have been mostly comfortable. What really made Nightlight’s optics pale was the information that the Iaconian diplomats, their aides and half the city’s nobles would be there as well, and Nightlight wouldn’t even be able to pretend utter absorption in the sparklings when he got stuck - it was scheduled for after the little ones’ recharge, probably deliberately, which meant that the Vosian adults arrived hungry as well as faintly perturbed.

The room was crowded and all on one level, quietly confusing Vosian sensors, and ‘dinner’ turned out to consist of ever-fancier fuel mixes and confections and a truly bewildering array of tableware. Nightlight was sitting at the tailfin-end of Orion and Megatron’s table, his trinemates over at another where - Thundersong’s expression had darkened somewhat - Daybreak and Regalia were seated with other Iaconian diplomats, and Fly-by-Night and Shimmersea were at another table again on the other side of the room. Nightlight’s tank churned, even with Safeguard calmly refusing to budge from eir position at his wing - the utensils were all but unusable, to say nothing of being _just_ too small for even Skydance and Fly-by-Night’s dextrous hands, and there was a very clear divide between the Iaconians who thought nothing of waving any awkwardness away and those who smirked behind their hands. The last time Nightlight had been at a meal this awkward had been with the Highest Family. 

The only thing that made it bearable was Skydance’s constant running commentary.

//Okay, this is clearly a torture device. When do we get to the torture part of the evening? My mistake, we’re already there.// Skydance eyed the double-tined utensil in his hand, theatrically musing it over like a detective in an entertainment holobroadcast. //And what even is this, it’s all curly, it’s a spring. Why are we eating goodies with a spring? I should take this home to Dash and let him bounce it down a ramp. Then at least someone will be enjoying themselves.//

Nightlight snickered, tried to hide it with a vent-cough, and put on his best innocent-Dash face when a few Iaconians glanced his way. At least Umbrage was keeping her distance - she’d taken one look at the Vosians and pretended to remember a very pressing engagement elsewhere. Nightlight got the feeling she was rather in disgrace after her failure to corral the Vosians, from how there was a small island of space around her. Or perhaps not even the Iaconians liked her company.

//I’m gonna sneak the leftovers into my subspace for the bits. You think they’d miss one of the evil spring things? I kind of want to make something with them, something - less-evil. I dunno, maybe a crystal holder to go in the Temple. You think anyone else is this fussy with their energon? Eesh.//

//I’m sure I have no idea,// Nightlight commed mildly, then brightened as he caught sight of Sideswipe lurking almost casually behind Orion’s chair. The young guard lit up as their optics met and gave Nightlight a grin that could have powered Iacon; Night’s field glowed with pleasure and he gave Sideswipe a half-shy, welcoming smile in return, distracted from the - implement he was trying to scoop up a goodie with and Skydance’s monologue both.

//Ohhh. That’s your friend from the other night, huh? Well, you’ve got good taste, starshine.//

Nightlight’s wings flicked and he barely stifled a squeak. A gentle hum over the comm was Thundersong’s apology for flustering him; his trinemate’s appreciative once-over was not. //He’s pretty.//

//I - That - I, um-//

//Ah-ah. I’m saying you picked a shiny mech to spend some time with, no more, no less. Well, other than ‘good for you’.//

//...well. Yes, but.// Nightlight nervously fiddled with the utensil in his hands - and he had no more idea what to do with it than Skydance did, but it certainly was good for fiddling nervously with. //I’d sooner look after him than date him. He’s very sweet.//

//Carrier,// Thundersong teased, pretending to pay attention to the diminutive Iaconian seated to his other side trying unsuccessfully to explain the logic of the spring-utensil to him. He wasn’t a poor explainer at all, to be fair; it was just that there was no logic to be had.

//Sparkling-toys,// Skydance muttered over comms. //Or raw material for when Caldera gets the urge to make jewelry.//

Nightlight hid another laugh, imagining Caldera’s expression confronted with the - admittedly very well-crafted - variety of utensils. Then there was a stir at the midway point of the table - Orion was standing to make a speech. He should probably pay attention.

Orion was smiling as he stood, bless his spark - if it weren’t for the ‘helpful’ Iaconian diplomats dividing up Praxian priest from Praxian priest and sitting between the Vosians, ostensibly to promote the mingling of representatives, Nightlight might have liked to sit by the Prime and talk to him. He probably thought the strange goodie utensils just as ridiculous as Skydance had. The Lord Protector certainly did, from his expression, and the silent shadow at his shoulder had kept his face a blank mask through the entire event. Drift probably didn’t approve either, if he was of the same general opinion as the ruling dyad.

“My friends,” Orion said, and Nightlight snapped his optics back to the young Prime. “This is the last fuel the Praxian delegation and their guests will share with us before leaving our city-state. It has been a privilege to speak with them, and we are all grateful to them for making the journey here.” The pause was apparently enough for a polite murmur of “Hear hear,” and a smattering of engine sounds as punctuation. Orion inclined his helm, but clearly wasn’t ready to let everyone go back to wrangling the outlandish goodie tools yet. 

“There is much to do to mend the bonds between our city-states, and much work to be done to bring Cybertron into balance once more.” Nightlight’s wings quivered ever so slightly, and he didn’t miss how Shimmersea and Fly-by-Night were carefully, casually scanning the faces and fields of the Iaconian dignitaries seated at the precisely-ordered tables. The concept of balance wasn’t a popular one, it seemed. “Such diplomatic visits are a promising first step, and a gesture of friendship that we will soon return. I for one greatly look forward to it, and to the improved relations between our cities.”

He turned to Legate, offering a hand. Legate clasped it with a smile, and allowed Orion to yield the head of the table to him. “I share Optimus Prime’s optimism,” he announced. “Thank you, all of you, for your hospitality and your willingness to listen and respond to our concerns. This visit was only the first step in our two states forming a stronger, closer bond. I too look forward to further diplomatic visits between us, and stand ready to show our Iaconian friends Praxian hospitality.” There was the tiniest hint of a wry smile as he stepped down again, one that made Nightlight think Legate was of a similar mind to the Vosians when it came to Iaconian table manners.

More than one set of optics turned to Nightlight then; he had just enough time to think _oh no_ before Orion retook center stage. “Thank you, Legate. And that’s enough speeches for now, I think.” Beside him, the Lord Protector muttered something that didn’t quite reach Nightlight’s audials, but made Orion send a dry look his way. “There will be more work tomorrow; in the meantime, I invite you to enjoy yourselves.”

Enjoyment wouldn’t really have been the word Nightlight used - awkward, yes, and just as dangerous in its own way as any of the formal fuelling times in the Winglord’s eirie, though he was very sure that the Praxian intelligence officers were still combing out useful insights even as they made the terrible goodie utensils look graceful. Shimmersea had apparently given up on attempting to keep them all straight, and was making adept bland conversation with a cluster of Iaconian dignitaries and a Praxian priest or two. It looked as though she was having fun - or enjoying her self-appointed task, either one - and Fly-by-Night was being just as noncommittal further down their table. Nightlight recognised the amused little half-smile he wore as his working expression, and wisely left well alone. 

In the meantime, that left him sitting between two Iaconian groundframes that were both half his height, and while someone had no doubt thought that would reassure the most visibly nervous Vosian guest, it only made him feel too-large and awkward. Sideswipe caught his optic again and pulled a ridiculous face where the ruling dyad couldn’t see; Nightlight hid a smile a moment too late, and Sideswipe’s triumphant grin was his reward.

Well, Nightlight decided, he should really at least try to make conversation, if only to be polite. Then there was a brief, disapproving susurration, and Nightlight blinked as his processor sorted out just what he’d heard.

“-disgraceful. If they don’t even know how to fuel properly, what are they doing letting them sit at the table with the rest of us?”

A moment’s confusion and rising alarm straightened out the confusing mess of which ‘them’ was who - Skydance had cheerfully, and with a glint in his optic, abandoned the ridiculous array of goodie tools and picked out a morsel from his plate with his fingertips.

“So much easier,” he said casually, and drew the goodie from between his fingers with his lips.

Megatron was openly laughing - at the shocked expressions of the nobles rather than at Skydance himself, Nightlight was fairly sure, but he winced anyway - and Drift was making some distinctly odd faces as he tried not to do the same. Shimmersea had her face in her hand and was shaking her head slowly, lips quirking behind her hand. Across his trinemates’ table, Daybreak was speaking to someone else, spiked utensil twirling elegantly in her fingers as she gestured, but her smirk was directed at the Vosians and had a keen edge to it. The Praxians’ doorwings were fluttering as a flurry of panicked comms passed between them.

//Well,// Thundersong commented, //it took us this long to cause a diplomatic incident. I’d say that’s pretty impressive for us.//

//’Song-!//

Nightlight’s plea faded as, at the head of his table, Orion rumbled and shifted forward. He cringed, sure they were all about to get thrown out in disgrace.

“Finally someone said it,” Orion commented, plucked a goodie from a tray with his fingers and ate it, his gaze politely daring anyone to give him slag for it. Megatron barked a laugh, pulled the tray away from him and did the same, pointedly _not_ gazing at anyone as no one in that room would have been stupid enough to give him slag for anything at all.

//Awesome. Sparkling toddles, sparks-of-mine, sparkling toddles. One step at a time.//

Nightlight almost slid out of his chair. //’Dance, what in the wide world do you think you’re doing!//

//Opening up some new diplomatic avenues.// Skydance was grinning as he picked out another goodie, chatting easily at the Iaconian noble next to him - that good mech wasn’t listening, too busy staring at the Vosian delicately nibbling at the sweet held casually between his fingers. //The stuck-up ones were trying to snipe at one of the Praxians having trouble with the stupid swizzle-sticks they use, so I’m helping out.//

“What an excellent idea,” Legate said calmly, startling Nightlight halfway out of the comm call - he almost thought the Praxian diplomat had overheard their conversation for a moment, then as he stared Legate lifted one of the small bowls of flavoured fuel to his lips, ignoring the spiral dipper in amongst the many, many utensils provided, and took a thoughtful sip.

“Have you studied Vosian manners?” Shimmersea asked politely, hiding her smile as she scooped up two fingers’ worth of a foamy confection from her plate. “You would hardly be out of place at a noble’s table.”

“I aim to be cosmopolitan,” Legate replied blandly, and equally politely ignored the snort of laughter from Megatron’s direction.

***

“‘Dance,” Nightlight said weakly, some time later with the door of their suite firmly closed to diplomats. “Please, for the sake of my spark, _warn_ us next time.”

“Awwww. Sorry, starshine. I just got gearbugs in my tank at them being so stuck up, you know? Not like they wouldn’t get poked fun of at the high table if they were in Vos, so I did something.” 

“Personally,” Thundersong murmured, ambling over with a slink to his walk that told Nightlight he should check that the little ones’ door was fully closed, “I thought you were inspired.”

Skydance lit up like a star overhead and _grinned._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you wanting more between Nightlight and Sideswipe...check out the series tag. ;)


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nightlight's little family returns to Praxus and many small joys occur; something strange is going on in Kaon; another familiar face makes an appearance; one of Starscream's agents finally discovers Nightlight's location; many letters are sent, and Wheeljack - accidentally saves the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings this time around, aside from the adrenaline and panic rush of Nightlight finding out that Starscream knows where his family is living. That will change in the next few chapters - soon we return to Vos, and the trouble really starts.

Praxus was a welcome relief and respite after Iacon, even if Nightlight’s recharge fluxes went back to featuring Starscream hunting him down for treason for a couple of weeks. Fortunately this time Dash had so much to distract him that Nightlight’s anxiety didn’t spill over into him. It helped that his little one was older now, gaining independence with every day - every test flight, every lesson, every carefully-written letter to Orion or Megatron.

He was growing up so very fast. They all were.

Dancing and storytelling lessons joined singing and flying. Resonance found tutors for science and maths, the little ones grouped according to age and ability. Nightlight developed his own history curriculum, and watched Dash begin to understand what forces had built Vos and why his own estranged family was so influential. He wasn’t Nightlight’s best student - that title belonged to Haze, capable of more focus than Dash’s scattered attention could match - but Nightlight loved every moment of teaching him.

As their little ones grew, the complement of adult mechs all joined together to make sure that life was more than lessons - or at least that the lessons were still fun. The artists in the group were increasingly in demand - Radiant was a one-mech powerhouse, creating steelsilk by the winglength from her stubborn vigil in the medbay - and the older younglings, those with an aptitude beginning to show, made regular visits to the forges and studios of their grown-ups. Skydance loved it - although when he was caught up in a project it was hard for him to see anything else, and the others tried to make sure they had fall-back plans for when Skydance was preoccupied. Thundersong took Dawn and Dusk on trips to work with him, alongside Dash and Haze more often than not; Terra was enraptured by the Praxian crystal growers, and her geologist parent couldn’t have been more proud when she asked to learn about the subjects closest to Catena’s spark. 

Aurora and Countdown’s little trine were still small enough that planned-out lessons would have been too much for them, along with Bubblebomb’s Snuggles and Zippy; they went on shorter expeditions and tumbled about what was gradually becoming known as Little Vos, learning as they played. Lacewing had moved in while Nightlight and the others were in Iacon, when she finally remembered to, and her Buglet joined Tempo’s three in what was fast becoming a creche. They were still barely toddling when Sunshower delighted everyone with the announcement that she was sparked in turn, and all in all Nightlight managed to briefly forget about Orion’s plans to send out a survey mission to a backwater system.

Eventually, though, along with the reply letters to Dash from Orion or (more rarely, but generally longer-winded) from Megatron, came progress reports: first about gathering supplies and team members for the expedition to 212616-c, then the mission itself. The launch was broadcast on one of those holochannels that mostly showed scientific developments and educational programming, of the kind that the adult Vosians pounced on to work into their little ones’ lessons whenever they could; Nightlight made sure to record it when it was on for the lilluns to watch over and again. “Wheeljack’s on that ship,” he told them, and Dash squeaked delightedly.

Progress reports became sparse after that for a while. Even with space bridge technology, it took a long time to get that far into the outskirts of the galaxy. Nightlight counted the time by Dash’s repulsor progress and the growth of Radiant’s sparkling; Dash’s flight was strengthened by two levels and the sparkling was almost ready to be decanted when they received word again. _Planetfall,_ read Orion’s note to them. _Search commencing._

“I hope they find him,” Night murmured to his trine. “If nothing else, his family - whoever they are - they deserve to receive his remains.” Thundersong nodded silently and squeezed his hand.

The day Radiant’s sparklet came out of the development chamber, they received another note. _Skyfire is alive._

The message wasn’t picked up until very late that cycle - Radiant had burst into tears when her little one had finally been settled into her arms, curious optics fixing on her face for the first time and tiny, delicate hands patting at her plating. 

“Helios,” she whispered, then rebooted her vocaliser and gave Resonance a trembling, glowing smile. “Our little home-star.”

Resonance had leaned against her shoulder and tightened his arms around her, resting his chin on her helm to watch the tinybit shift and squeak in Radiant’s arms.

“It suits hir,” he managed, and gave Radiant a smile just as damp around the edges.

The rest of the little Vosian colony fell all over each other to welcome Radiant and Helios home at last - banners streamed from the windows, ribbons blossomed from nowhere into wild tangles fluttering in the wind, and every preparation space in the street was turned over to make goodies for a celebration that was quiet for the little one’s sake yet still overflowing with joy. Nightlight had to excuse himself more than once to cry in relief and happiness, and it seemed that for a little while he had everything he could ever want.

Then he found the message waiting on his console, and his spark soared as his legs gave way.

“Carrier?”

“Dashbit,” Nightlight sighed, holding his arms out. Dash trotted over and cuddled into them. “Is everything all right?”

Dash nodded. “Helios is cute but he’s not very interesting yet. What are you doing on the floor?”

Nightlight couldn’t quite muffle a watery laugh. “I’m sorry if I worried you, dearest. I got some news and it surprised me.”

“What news?”

Nightlight rested his chin on Dash’s helm. “Do you remember the person Orion sent that expedition to find?” 

Dash nodded thoughtfully. “Skyfire.”

“That’s right.” Nightlight felt himself smiling, a misty helpless grin that started in his giddy spark. “I’ve just gotten a message from Orion - they’ve found him, and somehow, he’s still alive!”

Dash tilted his head under Nightlight’s chin. “That’s... good?”

“It’s _wonderful!_ ” Nightlight pulled back to blink at his little one. “Why wouldn’t it be? ...Is there something you’re worried about?”

“Just…” Dash ducked his head down. “What kind of person is he if he liked _Starscream_ the way ‘Song and ‘Dance like each other?”

“...ah.” Put that way, Dash’s worries made sense, but… “I saw him once or twice when he was in Vos, when you were as tiny as Helios is now. He seemed very - calming and steady, and Starscream was happier than I’d ever seen him.” He let his chin touch Dash’s helm again. “I think Skyfire was good for him.”

Dash thought this over, burrowing into Nightlight’s lap and frowning. “If Skyfire’s coming back, will he still be good for him?”

“I hope so. Maybe if Starscream has someone there to show him how to be nice, he’ll be better. And I think he missed Skyfire very much.”

That got him a muffled snort, but Dash didn’t argue. Nightlight cuddled him close, listened to the sounds of muted celebration going on outside the door, and let himself hope.

*

Praxians, as a society, loved crystals. They cultivated gardens of carefully-tended crystals in complimentary colours and compounds, painstakingly shaping them through mineral feeds and weathering; crystal displays divided traffic lanes and cordoned off pedestrian-only streets and plazas, and certain kinds were even sold as tiny grow-your-own pots for enthusiastic tourists.

In the lower levels of Praxus, skilled crystalsmiths cultivated instruments of perfect pitch and clarity, from the first mineral seeds to fully-grown performance art. Public gardens and parks were everywhere, and a wonder that the inhabitants of Little Vos all discovered over time and rapidly fell in love with. Everyone in Praxus had their own favourite garden, and it wasn’t uncommon nowadays to see a wandering Vosian minding a little one or three as they explored the crystal groves.

What Dash loved best were the harvest gardens.

As well as the gardens that were meant to be purely ornamental - beautiful, intricate structures that were outdoor works of art in their own right - and the more robust parks where young lovers snuggled and little ones could clamber all over the crystal groves, Praxus also boasted gardens of cultivated sweet crystals. These low-lying, many-budded formations could be harvested as easily-dissolved mineral additives for those who needed an extra boost to their systems, or who just liked the taste. It was also an informative afternoon out for growing sparklings who enjoyed running through the raised fractal nutrient beds and sneaking crystal tips here and there instead of collecting them for later.

For Dash, not the neatest eater, the evidence of his sneaky nibbles was plain to see: a glittery dust down his chin. Nightlight laughed when he saw, swept Dash up - _he’s getting so big,_ he marveled, _I won’t be able to carry him much longer!_ \- and wiped his face off amid affronted sputters. “Did any actually make it into the bucket?” he teased.

Dash, still frowning, held his bucket up and shook it, producing a respectable rattle of crystal tips. “Bet I got more than anybody else.”

“Let’s find out, shall we?”

Dash had cheered up by the time they rejoined the others: Haze, Terra, and Dusk were clamoring for Bluestreak to weigh their buckets for them. Bluestreak laughingly told them to hand them over, and then loudly pretended they were too heavy to lift, much to the younger ones’ amusement. Dash snickered into Nightlight’s audial. “He’s funny. And nice.”

“Yes, very much so.” _How strange I used to distrust him - and how long ago it seems._

Dash beamed at him and snuggled into his carrier’s neck, and Nightlight hugged him closer. “Today’s been a nice day,” Dash said decidedly, and Nightlight beamed in turn as he nuzzled Dash’s helm.

“I’m glad you’re having fun, sweetest.” And glad that things had quietened down, come to that. 

After coming back from Iacon Nightlight had very firmly distanced himself from any more political missions, and the Praxian elders had accepted his decision with grace. Fly-by-Night and Shimmersea were much better suited to any kind of diplomatic positions anyway, and they’d taken to spending time meeting with the Praxians at the temple dissecting the intel coming from Iacon and Kaon. Fly-by-Night’s agents - or, rather, the agents of the Vosian Head of Intelligence - had been gradually reassigned away from Praxus in the cycles before Fly-by had slipped away with the Exile’s Tower Vosians, and he had managed to keep in contact with those who had followed Fly-by-Night, rather than the Director - that meant he was able to pass on what information they slipped him for Praxus’ own agents to confirm. Vos was simmering with potential unrest and no little pique, as Iacon and Kaon were apparently leaving them entirely alone; Iacon’s scientific community had exploded like someone had kicked a magnesiant’s nest, and the upsurge of energy had transferred across to Kaon. What they didn’t know was just what was being built.

 _A new theme park,_ Skydance had suggested with a grin.

 _A high-speed transport system?_ Shimmersea wondered.

 _A doomsday device for Taking Over The World!_ laughed Rocket.

Nightlight had shuddered. _Don’t even joke about that._

Well, Iacon and Kaon would do what Iacon and Kaon would do; Nightlight wouldn’t say it was no longer any of his concern, but it was certainly out of his winghouse. He had Dash to care for and his family to look after - that was plenty of responsibility, thanks all the same.

He was starting to trust that his world wasn’t going to be yanked out from under him again, that he’d finally be allowed to keep the happiness he’d built. Still, as he watched Dash proudly hand his bucket to Bluestreak, he wondered if the universe could really be that kind.

***

“My lord. We’ve received word from Praxus.”

Starscream, busy getting his newest cape fitted, scowled at the image of his new Head of Intelligence in his mirror. “Praxus? _Really._ What’s in Praxus that could possibly be of interest?”

The blue-winged Seeker blinked slowly. “If my agent’s report is to be believed - your brother.”

The cape’s silksmith was knocked to the floor with a yelp as Starscream turned violently. “Are you telling me someone has finally found Nightlight?” He advanced on his Intelligence head, who stood his ground with the laconic air of one with absolute faith in his information. “Show me! Now!”

His message queue was instantly filled with images - sharp ones, for all their framing suggested they’d been taken from some distance away - of Nightlight surrounded by waist-high crystal growths, talking with the missing Vosians and Praxians alike, all of them surrounded by the colorful blurs of younglings. Starscream let out a slow, seething exvent.

“So. My brother has set up his own little court in Praxus, of all places.”

“It would seem so, my lord. My agent mentions a newly re-developed part of Praxus the locals call Little Vos-”

Starscream snarled, but to his credit the Seeker didn’t flinch. “Nightlight appears to have set up there, along with the other listed targets. My agent sent confirmation of Nightlight’s presence immediately; she’s investigating as to whether all the missing targets are in Praxus with him as we speak.”

“Tell her to find them. _Watch them,_ make sure none of them try to leave.” The Heir of Vos Oversoaring spun on his heel, the silksmith scrambling out of Starscream’s path as he stalked towards his suite’s comm set. “If Nightlight returns to Vos, if I get my hands on his entire scheming cohort, she gets a commendation!”

“Yes, my lord.” The Seeker hesitated, briefly, then spoke regardless. “And if they do leave Praxus, for whatever reason?”

Scarlet optics flashed over Starscream’s shoulder. “Then she follows them, and we snatch the full wing of traitors in mid-flight.”

***

Airazor’s commander replied to her message with further orders to monitor the comings and goings - especially goings - of the Heir’s brother and his comrades. She got the impression that Lord Starscream was - not _pleased_ , exactly, reportedly very little pleased him, but encouraged by her success. Certainly the head of her office was.

All this on her first mission! The former Head of Intelligence may have left the whole intelligence department milling in confusion when he betrayed them for once-Grace Nightlight, but it had certainly cleared the way for her. Airazor settled in on the rooftop a respectable distance from the cluster of buildings the locals knew as Little Vos, content that she was doing her duty for city and Winglord.

A brief shadow flickered over her; that was the only warning she got before a dark-painted Vosian landed in her field of vision. She squeaked and leaped skyward, only to be forced down again by the other’s skillful flying.

“So,” former Head of Intelligence Fly-by-Night said. “I have been lax in my duty, it seems.”

Airazor rallied, drawing herself up until her folded wings quivered. “I don’t know what you’re-”

“A junior agent, sent to what appeared to be an essentially pointless observation post, little or no experience in the field thus far - but I would imagine that paled besides Vos’ Heir demanding information from the department.” Fly-by-Night’s head cocked slightly to one side, and the faint, chilling smile he wore did more to rattle Airazor than his fancy flying had. “And you’re determined enough to try and stick to your story, which leads me to believe that you’ve already sent information back to Vos and been told to keep observing.”

She tensed as Fly-by-Night took a step forward, but kept enough of her wits about her not to draw the weapon she’d been issued and prove him right. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but you can’t just pin someone down on a roof and spout all this stuff at people!”

Fly-by-Night’s smile widened, and to Airazor’s shock he looked _approving,_ if anything. “Very good. But no, you’re right - as a law-abiding citizen, I have no right to keep you from going about your day.”

The sound of pedes in the street below caught Airazor’s audial, and she stared in horror as the first Praxian Enforcer came clattering up the stairs onto the roof. Fly-by-Night tipped his head at the officer, his optics not leaving Airazor’s face.

“These fine mechs, on the other hand, have every right. And you know I can pin you if you try to lift off, so I suggest you don’t cause a fuss.”

And to her credit, Airazor did as she was told with dignity and grace. Too late to make any difference, unfortunately; Fly-by-Night steeled himself, then returned to Little Vos to tell his family that they had likely been discovered.

*

“It was only a matter of time,” Shimmersea assured Fly-by-Night, as Nightlight slowly sank down onto the nearest chair, a new horrible paleness in his optics. “That we’ve gone undiscovered for this long is due to your foresight, my friend. And we’ve become so entrenched in Praxus now that they’d need a crowbar to pry us out.”

“Oh my stars,” Nightlight murmured unsteadily, clearly picturing that exact scenario. Bubblebomb took it on herself to sit with him, clasping his hands in hers.

“Shh-shh,” she murmured. “Cycle. Praxus is our home now. They won’t kick us out no matter how much Starscream rattles his blasters.”

“He has an _army,_ ” Nightlight lamented. “An army and all the resources of the Highest Family behind him, do you really think he won’t bring all that to bear to get me back under his heel?”

“The Temple won’t let that happen,” Bubblebomb protested.

Nightlight dropped his face in his hands with a low moan. “That’s exactly what I don’t want!”

“Steady, dearspark,” Shimmersea said as she settled onto her knees beside his pedes. Bubblebomb leaned against his shoulder, her hands resettling with one at Nightlight’s back and the other on his knee, and Shimmersea gently wrapped her hands around his wrists to rub the thinner plating there.

“It’s all right,” she said softly as Nightlight shook, his wings chiming a susurration against the low back of the chair. “Dial your vents back, sweetspark, concentrate on that and just listen to me. They won’t come, do you understand? They can threaten all they like, but the Temple’s priests are arranging a treaty with Iacon and Kaon. They’re agreeing to work together, to share resources and information, and that means if Vos threatens anything Praxus isn’t standing alone. They have to deal with Iacon and Kaon right behind Praxus, and even if Starscream throws a tantrum, all three city-states have come too far now not to band together. Do you see? This is what’s come of our going to Iacon, of letting Orion and Megatron meet Dash and telling off that arrogant little adjunct and that _ridiculous_ set of cutlery.” Nightlight’s vents choked in something like a laugh, and Bubblebomb’s shoulders slumped in relief as she cuddled him closer. Blue optics glittered from slits between Nightlight’s fingers, slowly gaining ground on the panic attack trying to clutch at him, and Shimmersea gave him a warm, slightly rueful smile.

“We weren’t supposed to tell anyone just yet,” she added gently, her thumbs rubbing circles into the heels of Nightlight’s hands. “Not until everything’s been signed off, at least. But I think Legate will forgive me under the circumstances.”

“I’m willing to confirm it was in a good cause,” Fly-by-Night murmured dryly, and Nightlight let out a wobbly snort of laughter.

“Thank you,” he mumbled into his hands. “All of you, I just - couldn’t stand it if Starscream hurt someone because of me.”

“Starscream,” Bubblebomb told him firmly, “can’t go five astroseconds without hurting someone. Believe me, sweets, it’s not because of you.” Nightlight shook his head and made a whimpering noise. “...which doesn’t make it easier, I know, but just because he’s hurting people _at_ you doesn’t make you responsible for his choices.”

“Well said,” Shimmersea murmured, and Bubblebomb, too used to knowing she often spoke before she thought, wiggled her wings at the praise.

Nightlight seemed to agree; his hands slid down from his face, though they hovered like nervous rotary-frames. “Well,” he said, directing a pale smile at Fly-by-Night, “what happens now?”

Fly-by-Night tapped a fingertip on his chin. “I’ll go and speak to the Enforcers on the on-cycle, see if they can find out how much that agent sent to Vos. Until we know something concrete, the only thing to do is increase security and go on about our lives.”

Nightlight nodded, looking like the act pained him. Unseen by all of them, a small red-and-yellow shadow uncurled and padded away from them, back up the hallway where the younglings slept.

*

“You can’t arrest me,” Airazor said, her chin up and her wings spread as high as she could make them. “I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“You’re not under arrest, child,” the Praxian enforcer repeated patiently, though she noted that ei wasn’t moving to let her out. The little room in the Temple wasn’t exactly a cell, but there was only one door and the Praxian on the other side of the table was closer to it than she was. Nonetheless, she pushed herself to her pedes and looked as far down her nose at the Praxian as she could.

“Then you won’t mind me leaving. You can’t keep me here for no reason.”

To her annoyance and faint, growing worry, the Praxian barely even blinked. “You won’t be kept here long. You have done wrong, child, for all you may think otherwise, but it’s not for us to punish you.”

Something of a chill ran down Airazor’s back and over her wings, for all that she wouldn’t - couldn’t - let herself drop back down into her seat or stand lower than the groundframe. “Then what _are_ you planning?”

“You will be on the first and fastest transport out of Praxus,” came the cool, astonishing reply, “and barred from re-entering the city.”

Airazor stepped back and shuttered her optics briefly, the words hitting like a physical blow. _My first failure riding the contrails of my first success. So much for impressing Thundercracker!_ “As… you wish,” she forced out. “If this is how you treat your visitors, I have no wish to stay.”

The enforcer sighed slowly, optics dimming, and Airazor felt like a youngling facing a disappointed elder. She flicked her wings to dispel the feeling. “Even now, child, I wish I could welcome you back,” the enforcer said. “You are clearly in need of the guidance the Temple could provide. Yet I cannot sacrifice the safety of many sparks for the sake of one.”

Airazor’s thoughts returned, unbidden, to Nightlight and his comrades. _They seemed so happy. So - peaceful._

Once again, she flicked her wings, though this time dispelling her uncertainty was more of an effort. “I’ll find my guidance elsewhere,” she said, trying to borrow some of the self-assurance of the Winglord. “Thank you all the same.”

“As you wish.”

*

Nightlight wore grooves into the floor tiles over the coming cycles, horrifying visions crowding his head - wings of oncoming fighters, Starscream’s triumphant face, Dashlet being torn out of his arms. A lifetime of hiding from his faster, stronger siblings had left him more comfortable than most non-artisan Vosians about spending a lot of time indoors, and Nightlight braced himself for a round of complaints from Dash and his friends when Nightlight held their lessons safely inside, away from the open sky and potential danger. To his faint surprise and great relief not one of the sparklings argued the fact, and they worked through the lessons Nightlight put together for them in comparative contentment. If Dash was a little quieter than normal, a little more thoughtful, Nightlight put it down to the slight change in routine and their little class starting to work on more complex mathematical music theory.

They hadn’t had messages from Iacon for some time when one arrived from Megatron, with a second from Wheeljack bundled in alongside it; the seals on the message made Nightlight’s optics brighten in surprise, seeing markers for absolute secrecy and privacy that he’d not come across outside of the Winglord’s official correspondence.

“Well,” Nightlight murmured in some puzzlement, sitting down with the flimsies as Dash came trotting over to his chair. “I never thought I’d see those glyphs again, but it seems like Megatron and Wheeljack have something important to tell us.”

“What is it? They haven’t messaged for aaages, Orion said he’d keep in touch and everything!”

Night scooped Dash up into his lap - his little spark was getting closer to being a youngling every time he turned around, sturdy little frame growing taller and leggy like his Vosian parent, but they still both fitted into one chair - just about. “See here, sweetest? Can you read those combinations for me?”

Dash rolled his optics, but obliged his carrier anyway. “That one’s for privacy, that one’s secrecy, and those are- it’s for both of us, there’s my name next to yours!”

“There, see? They haven’t forgotten either of us.” Nightlight smiled as Dash bouncewiggled, then obligingly cracked open the slim tube to shake the flimsies out and unfurl them.

“Now, let’s see - ‘Dear Nightlight, I hope Dash is with you so you can tell him the news - I don’t mind if you have to put this down to tell him.’ ...Silly Wheeljack, as if I’d keep you waiting.” Night nuzzled Dash’s cheek, then chuckled as Dash batted at him and kept reading. “‘I wanted you and your family to be the first to know, but Orion asked that we keep it secret a little longer so we can be sure everything works. We’re sending out crews to the system where Skyfire crashed with what we’re calling stellar panels, that can absorb energy from the sun and give us a whole new source of unlimited energy...”

“...carrier?” Dash prompted when Nightlight’s voice trailed into silence. “What’s that mean?”

“Oh good heavens,” came the slightly unsteady reply when Nightlight rebooted his vocaliser. “I’m not sure how he’s done it, Dashlet, but - it means that our friends are very, very clever people. If I understand this right, then Wheeljack might just have solved the fuel crisis.”

Dash beamed up at him, delighted and still innocent in a way that Nightlight would never stop being thankful for. “‘Course he has. Wheeljack’s _smart._ And he’s nice.”

“Yes he is.” Nightlight squidged him up close, suddenly feeling a lot better about the world. The Iacon-Kaon-Praxus alliance would be the strongest force on Cybertron, with new energon coming in - not even Starscream could possibly challenge them!

Not that he wouldn’t threaten to, Nightlight was sure, but even Starscream had backed down before when the Winglord had put his pede down, and even the Winglord’s power paled next to this. Nightlight had absorbed enough of politics to understand that much.

For the first time since the discovery of their Vosian observer, Nightlight started to feel safe.

While he ruminated, Dash had kept reading - his glyph library had expanded exponentially since Iacon’s ruling dyad had started sending letters to him. “‘-had a little trouble convincing anyone to take me seriously, much less f- ...finance the project, but Orion stepped in for me. It was - wow. You forget because Orion’s such an easygoing guy, but when he turns on Optimus Prime you feel it right down to your spark. I wonder if all Primes are like that or if it’s just him.’” Dash paused, thinking it over. “Just him,” he said firmly.

Nightlight, busy being impressed by Dash’s reading all that with only a single falter in the middle, was taken by surprise by the statement and laughed.

“Well, we only know one Prime, but Orion is definitely the best,” he teased, and laughed again when Dash let out an engine-sputter and batted at him again. “Do you want to keep reading, sweetest?”

“Uh huh!” It only took a moment to resettle the flimsies, Dash snuggling back into his carrier’s arms, and Nightlight settled his chin against Dash’s small shoulder as his little one continued to read. “Um- oh, here. ‘Him and Megatron both said that Kaon should be the central hub of the whole project, and now the whole city-state is busy building the panels and the network of intake pipes we hope we’ll need. I’m sure it’s all going to work, but I can’t help wondering if my numbers are right even for my lowest estimates of how much energon we’ll be able to produce. It all sounds like too much, so we’re being careful rather than risk disappointing people. Either way, we’re going to start slow to make sure everything works first...’”

Nightlight cuddled Dash close as his sparkling read, and felt the icy grip around his spark and tanks begin to melt away.

*

Prowl drifted through the glimmering network of sparks at the gates of Praxus, watching over his charges as he was commissioned to do - then came to a sudden and inglorious stop. His entire spark-self _thrummed,_ there was no better word for it, as one brilliant flurry of light danced unseeing towards him; something deep in the core of his very self responded to that musical fire, a tug he couldn’t understand or ignore. Not a Praxian, no, a Polyhexian; a spark of joy and passion and an almost careless love of life itself, music made up of every beat of a fuel pump, every step of a pede, every laugh, every smile.

 _Who art thou?_ Prowl whispered, his spark realigning itself to a new true North.

 _Light. Light, life, joy in motion._ The core of this spark - a delight in living that Prowl wanted to wrap himself in, and the wistful ache frightened him.

“Name?” asked the gatekeeper, and the Polyhexian grinned, the expression so infectious that the gatekeeper forgot hirself and smiled back.

“My name’s Jazz.”

 _This name written on my sparkmatter,_ Prowl whispered, all his senses drinking in the terrifying spark that drew on his own - one that a part of him knew he would always be able to find again, would never be able to forget.

“Welcome to Praxus,” the gatekeeper said, handing Jazz a stamped travel pass. “Enjoy your stay.”

“Thanks, friend. Stay shiny!”

Jazz trotted into Praxus proper, head up, visor bright, meeting the city with his spark open and delighting in the newness of it all. Prowl found himself drifting after him like he was pulled on a string, like a sparkling-toy Dash’s younger family played with. For a moment he stopped, trying to let duty cut that string - but then he nearly lost sight of Jazz’s spark in the crowd and couldn’t resist any longer. He hurried after Jazz, desperate to keep him in sight.

*

The science team sent to one faraway icy world had returned to little fanfare, even when the scientist they’d been sent to retrieve turned out to be alive. Skyfire had seemed grateful for the lack; he lingered long enough to bewilderedly take down Wheeljack’s comm code before being bundled off by his creators, both of whom had shaken hands with Wheeljack and the pilot before leaving. Wheeljack had been assured that was positively effusive by shuttle standards.

Very little seemed to have changed in Altihex since Skyfire had left. It was a relief in many ways to be home - his creators and family had been worried enough when he’d set out on the original expedition, and the Iaconian Science Council had refused to give out any details of use to them. All they had been told was that Starscream had been to blame for Skyfire’s death, and that the Council wouldn’t compensate them for any mission to retrieve his frame, perhaps they could try asking Vos?

His family had been through a terrible time, while all Skyfire could remember of being frozen in the ice was the crash - and brief, hazy impressions of echoing blue light. Of course he wanted to reassure them that he was here and safe, and it said much of his creators’ tact that they hadn’t smothered him, but it was easy to see they were far less sanguine than they wanted him to believe.

Resting his weight against the parapet surrounding his creators’ balcony, Skyfire allowed himself a moment of worried exasperation and rubbed hard at his optics. He needed to decide what to do about Starscream, what to do with _himself_ and whatever remained of his career...maybe he could go back to Tarn and the laboratory equipment there. He didn’t feel all that inclined towards another planetary exploration trip, at least not for long enough that he’d be able to reassure his family that it would be better this time...

“Excuse me - are you Skyfire?”

Jolted from his thoughts, Skyfire blinked at the courier hovering a polite distance away. “I’m sorry, can I help you?”

“Oh, no sieur - just that you have a message. By flimsy rather than data transfer.”

Skyfire’s spark sunk into his tank, and he tried to keep it off his face as he reached out a hand for the flimsy. The courier approached gingerly - which was worrying all on its own, what did the courier think Skyfire was going to do? - and handed it to him before retreating to a respectful distance while Skyfire broke the seal and unrolled it.

 _Dearest Skyfire,_ it began, and a rush of mingled affection and apprehension swept over him.

_Please forgive me for not coming to see you in person, but as heir to the Winglord - yes, I’ve done it, just as I told you I would! - I have so much tying me to the city right now. Believe me, any lesser rank and I’d have flown to you on my own wings. I’m so overwhelmed I don’t know what to write. You’re alive!_

_I can’t believe you’re alive._

_I can’t believe I have this Prime to thank for your return. I imagine you’ll have met him already-_ Skyfire shook his helm; they had spoken over the shuttle’s comms, but - _-but Skyfire, the Iacon Academy council is the reason you were left on that horrible little ice ball for so long in the first place. I’ll tell you the whole story in person. Please consider this letter a standing invitation. I know you must be buried in attention right now-_

“Hardly,” Skyfire muttered, and the courier tilted her head queryingly.

_-but as soon as you can get away, please come to Vos. I ache to see you. I want you at my side._

Skyfire shuttered his optics. _Oh, Starscream._ His professions of affection were genuine, but - had he changed, in the time Skyfire slept? And for better or for worse?

“Sieur?” the courier prompted tentatively.

Skyfire shook himself. “Let me get a flimsy and I’ll write my reply.”

“Yes, sieur. I’ll be waiting.”

*

Nightlight was out in the open when the message came. His first wild thought was _thank Solus Dash is at home_ as the trio of Vosians landed in front of him - all light-flight frames, smaller than him by a head and shoulders with room to spare, all three looking at him with the edges of sneers curling at their lips. If he’d ever held much pride in being one of the Graces of the Winglord’s Eirie, the way they still managed to look down their noses at him would have stung more. As it was, his optics darted over them looking for weaponry, tense even when he saw nothing visible. The trine said nothing, so at least some forms still held true.

“I’m required at the creche,” he said calmly, the roil of apprehension and half-processed fuel clear of his vocaliser at least. “If you have something for me, kindly deliver it.”

His plating tightened in expectation of _something_ \- a drawn pistol, something thrown at him, Starscream appearing like the villain in a bad holodrama - but the lead flier merely flicked their wings and raised their chin another micron, arms folded behind their back like a youngling at a recital.

“We deliver a message to the mech once known as Grace Nightlight of the Twilit Stars, the Exile of the Tower, spark of Lightspeed spark of Corona. Are you he?”

 _You know very well who I am._ Nonetheless, Nightlight stood a little straighter to make the formal reply, a lifetime of training taking over from his nerves. “I am Nightlight, spark of Lightspeed spark of Corona. Deliver your message.”

One of the trine made a soft, derisive noise that was just rude enough to skate the border of plausible deniability. The lead flier stepped forward with none of the respect one of the Eirie would ordinarily be due, and the sparks in her optics openly dared Nightlight to say something, anything about the blatant breach of protocol. Nightlight said nothing, stood unmoving with his optics fixed on her face, and the lack of reaction (and, possibly, the time wasted on the commission) worked better than it ever had on any of Nightlight’s siblings. The lead courier huffed through her vents and pulled out a flimsy tube sealed with glyphs - _another one,_ Nightlight thought with a sigh - and held it out with a glare.

Out of pure aggravation, Nightlight kept her waiting for a double sparkpulse longer before reaching to take the tube. “Thank you,” he said deliberately, and all three fliers’ noses crinkled in disdain.

“The message is delivered,” the trine leader said flatly, and all three were in the air and vanishing into the distance before Nightlight had finished the ritual. 

“I accept the- oh, bother them.” Glancing down at the tube, Night sighed aloud and stepped into the air himself. This was one letter he was quite sure he’d want to read through again at home, no matter how secure he felt under Praxus’ protection.

“To the mech once known as Grace Nightlight of the Twilit Stars- oh, really, is this entirely necessary?” Frowning as he neared the familiar fractal curl of Little Vos, Nightlight scanned through the formal - and rather smug - verbiage, and almost fell out of the sky once he’d grasped the gist of the message itself. “Invited back for a _bonding-_ What in the world-? ...Starscream, what in the names of all the stars are you _up_ to?”

*

The messages arrived at the Heir’s Tower on the same day. Starscream felt his hands tremble as he read the flimsy from Skyfire accepting his invitation, and ignored his message queue for two megacycles as he plotted out the fanfare that would welcome Skyfire back to Vos and back to Starscream’s side. This time, he vowed, he’d lay every resource Vos had ever produced at Skyfire’s pedes, and he’d never want to leave again.

An entry-ping startled him out of his dreamy reverie; he hopped off the berth, hid his data slate and presented a stern face to the door as it opened. “What news?” he asked his Head of Intelligence.

Thundercracker’s optics flickered carefully over the room. “I was hoping to ask you if you had any new orders for me in regards to His Former Grace’s missive, my lord.”

“What missi-” Starscream’s jaw clicked closed as he accessed his message queue. “Hn. He actually mustered enough courage to reply. Did you read it?”

“No, only passed it along,” Thundercracker answered, and the mildness of his voice made Starscream almost positive he was lying, but Intelligence mechs had to be nosy, right? Starscream let Thundercracker wait while he scanned the message, frown deepening with every glyph.

“‘Naturalized citizen of Praxus’ - oh, what nonsense is this!?”

“It is a genuine legal process, my lord. It hasn’t been used in Vos for-”

“-of course it hasn’t, the last thing we need is more grounders taking up our airspace,” Starscream snapped, but his spark wasn’t in it. His attention was fixed on the datapad and the careful, almost delicate glyphs in his sibling’s neat calligraphy.

_To Grace Starscream of the Turbulent Heights, Heir of Vos Oversoaring, spark of Lightspeed spark of Corona,_

_Lord Starscream,_

_Our warmest congratulations at the news of your bonding announcement. Both Dash and I wish you joy now and in the future - may you and your chosen spark enjoy the best of each other, and the winds of Vos bring you both together._

_As both myself and my sparkling are now naturalised citizens of Praxus, I regret that we will not be able to attend your ceremony. We both extend our apologies and hope your day is everything you wish it to be._

_Sincerely,_

_Nightlight, spark of Lightspeed spark of Corona._

Thundercracker cleared his vents and Starscream realized he was clenching his fists. “So,” he said lightly, opening his hands. “My _dear_ brother thinks he’s a Praxian now.”

“He’s quite conclusively removed himself from the succession,” Thundercracker pointed out. “My lord.”

“That isn’t the point, that was _never_ the point!” Starscream whirled on him with the kind of wild snarl that had his guards flinching (if they were brave) or running for cover (if they had any sense). Thundercracker didn’t even tense his wings, watching his lord rage with the kind of mild curiosity that he might have given a university lecturer giving an introductory lesson on something outside the listeners’ normal disciplines. “Nightlight is a sneak, a spiteful little sneak, and I won’t have him out there spreading his little sob stories at my expense! I want him _here,_ under control, under lock and key if I can manage it, and no false-winged little grounders are going to stand in my way!”

At that Thundercracker did wince a bit. “There’s a whole city of those false-winged grounders, and they’re allied with the most energon-rich city on the planet.”

Starscream, uncharacteristically, stopped short. Thundercracker saw the calculations running behind those red optics: the energy of Kaon, the military of Iacon, the support of Praxus, and the mixture of respect and seething envy he’d felt watching the holobroadcast of the Kaonite Lord Protector.

“...I don’t have time to deal with Nightlight now,” he pronounced grudgingly. “Skyfire is joining us for the Celebration of Lights; I have much to prepare.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we spend the Trek of the Homeless in Praxus, and the residents of Little Vos celebrate the Vosian Celebration of Light - and Jazz finds out why you never, ever take take ouija boards lightly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter this time, but please be warned - there's oblique mention of getting attacked by something supernatural and scary in this chapter, which we'll go into in more detail when Jazz gets his own fic later on~

The Trek of the Homeless was a whole new experience for the inhabitants of Little Vos. Orion had sent short, hurried notes here and there as work on the stellar energon project settled into a frenzy of purposeful, almost giddy activity, but when preparations for the Treks began in earnest even those became few and far between. More common were Megatron’s grumbling complaints that things were much simpler in Kaon, and he didn’t see why Orion couldn’t spend the whole slagging thing away from Iacon to make a point.

Nightlight and the other Vosians were both highly curious and a little perturbed by this, given their experiences in the more formal city-state, and took to quizzing Bluestreak about the whole thing.

“It’s not as though it’s completely unfamiliar,” Night said apologetically. “It’s just that - well, what we do in Vos seems almost private compared to what Megatron and Orion have been passing along.”

“Wow, okay, um - first off, it can be private if you want it to be. There’s parades in the outer districts that loop right around the city, if you want to link up and walk along all of them one after the other, but it’s not like a _festival_ parade, it’s...calm? I suppose? It’s really hard to describe if you’ve not seen it before.” The young Praxian frowned thoughtfully, peering at Helios snuggled up deeply in recharge in Radiant’s arms. Radiant shifted obligingly to let Bluestreak see the tiny sparkling, and met his delighted beam with a proud smile of her own.

“Well, it all sounds terribly exciting,” she observed, and Bluestreak wiggled on the arm of the sofa.

“It kind of is and kind of isn’t? I mean, it’s horrible to lose someone, but there’s this - this _feeling_ that you don’t get any other time ever. This _atmosphere._ Like it’s - like we really are all one spark, and all the sparks who ever lived in Praxus are standing with you too. And if you have lost someone you write their names on your plating to remember them, and the parade walks along the route of the crystal torches with more lights so the wandering sparks can find where to go! And then there’s the dancing when the parade’s passed by, and-”

“Wow,” Skydance murmured softly, his optics distant as Blue chattered; he already knew there would be light-themed works in his future, and that was _before_ he’d seen the Trek parade itself.

*

The Trek of the Homeless parade came right past Little Vos on its path around Praxus. Nightlight suspected that was deliberate on the part of one of the event planners, a show of inclusivity that warmed his spark. It was certainly fascinating to watch: rather than the confetti and music and celebratory cheering he’d been expecting, the painted celebrants following the priests were engaged in call-and-response chanting as they walked, a musical back and forth at once heartening and solemn, hopeful and sad at the same time. The blue-white torches lighting and marking the parade route were both strange and somehow familiar, though Night couldn’t put his finger on just why he felt he recognised that particular spectrum of light - maybe something he’d seen in the Temple mosaics, some half-seen detail that had lingered in the recesses of his processor. He’d have to look out his old course materials, after the holiday was over.

Nightlight was content to watch the Praxian celebrations from his balcony with some of the other grownups, but Dash had insisted on watching from ground level with ‘Dance and some of the other young ones, waving a glowing crystal affixed to a metal rod that Bluestreak had brought him. After the parade passed, Dash returned to him on the balcony, shadowed by Skydance and heading up the trailing cloud of sparklings.

“Look at you, flying all the way up here,” Nightlight praised, watching the way the lamps the Vosians had strung all along their balconies for the Celebration of Lights lit up his baby’s smile. “Did you have fun?”

“Yeah! Maybe next time I’ll walk in the parade too. It looks fun.” Dash dropped into Nightlight’s open arms, trusting his Carrier to catch and snuggle him close. “Do you think they’d let me?”

Night wasn’t so sure about his little one going along with all those people for the short stretch of the parade route that went past Little Vos, let alone for the whole joined-up parade route around Praxus itself, but he smiled and cuddled Dash up in his arms anyway. “We can certainly ask next orn. It does look like fun. Now, is everybody ready for our turn?”

The sparklings all set up a cheer; Haze led the charge to the back of the balcony before Terra, Moonburst and Sunspot passed hir with their longer legs, Dash wriggling down to chase after the older bits. Lifter’s sparkling cheered and waved tiny hands from her carrier’s arms as ei followed Sunstorm and her trine out onto the balcony, the adults promptly getting mobbed by excited little ones, juggling boxes of supplies between anyone with a spare hand as Radiant and Resonance shut off the internal lights. Little Vos was dark and still after the parade’s passing, the distant sounds of it fading away into an expectant hum that tingled over the Vosians’ plating - Medley’s trine drew the littlest bits off to one side, Bubblebomb setting down her own two wiggling sparklings to help assemble the box’s contents.

“Hush, little ones,” Aurora called softly; all of Little Vos had gathered together on the largest balcony running the length of their very first renovated building, their first glimpse of home in Praxus. “Hush now!”

“Now we light our lanterns,” Shimmersea murmured, taking the lead as the eldest Vosian there; her plating shimmered in the glow of the lamps bobbing at the balcony’s edge. Not even an excitable squeak broke the hush, the faint click-click of assembly coming smooth and syncopated as a sparkbeat as the fullframes put the first lanterns together. “Now we send out a welcome for those we have loved, a guide for those who make the longest journey of all.”

Nightlight stepped forward as Shimmersea finished speaking, the words old and familiar for all that the part he now played was new - he knelt to gather up the first of the completed lanterns and held it lightly in his upturned palms.

“Our lights to warm the stars, our sparks to ride the winds,” he said softly, and lifted the lantern into the air - giving the small antigravs space to activate and float up into the sky.

Dash leaned on the railing to watch as the lanterns slowly rose towards the stars, one after the next. Shimmersea, Nightlight, Aurora, Lifter - each adult lifted a lantern in their turn, murmuring ritual words or the names of lost friends or family. Radiant was last, lifting her lantern one-handed with Helios tucked in her free arm. Helios cooed softly as the light lifted away into the night, reflected in his optics.

Lanterns above, crystal torches below; Dash leaned on the railing and drank it all in, sealing the memory in his spark. “I’m glad we came to Praxus,” he murmured.

Gentle arms slid around him. “Are you?” Nightlight whispered. “I’m so happy.”

Dash leaned back into his carrier’s embrace. “I know. That’s why I’m glad we came.”

*

Not long after that, Dash brought a friend home for dinner.

“I tripped over Dash in the hallway,” said the Polyhexian apologetically, and Dash giggled, swinging hands with his new friend - he didn’t seem so much as scuffed, which was the only reason Skydance didn’t go all war-Seeker on his aft. “My name’s Jazz.”

“Uh _huh._ ” Skydance looked the grounder over, then glanced sidelong at Siren - the priest was a sensible sort, which was basically the only reason Nightlight had let Dash start to run errands around the Temple in the first place. ...well, that and Dash’s renewed interest in the Temple in the run-up to the Trek, anyway. Then there was a whole network of priestly minders keeping an eye on the bitlet, not to mention Fly-by-Night’s eerie powers of knowing everything, and Mimic working part-time at the Temple’s main desk while she figured out what to do next. Siren met ‘Dance’s optics calmly, and promptly opened a comm.

//I checked his background while we waited for you to pick Dash up. He’s in Praxus on a short-stay visit, lives and works with his twin in Polyhex and hasn’t been in any trouble with the enforcers there or elsewhere. He’s also never been to Vos, and he came to the Temple on entirely unrelated business.//

//Thanks,// Skydance replied a little sheepishly, and smiled at Siren’s fond expression.

//We love him too,// the Praxian said simply, and Skydance _beamed._

“Okay, well, you better make sure you watch where you’re going on the way home,” he added for Jazz’s benefit, and Dash lit up.

“He can come home with us?” he squeaked, and Skydance couldn’t help laughing.

“Yeah, your carrier said it was okay. Oof!” Dash cannoned into his middle with the help of his antigravs and Skydance swung him around, both of them giggling, until ‘Dance hefted Dash up on his hip and nuzzled his nibling’s nose. “Come on, squeakbit, let’s head home, huh?” //He’s legit far as the Temple knows, Night. No need to drop him off a building so far!//

//Well...all right, but could you bring him in through the back door, please? Fly-by-Night is waiting that way and I’d rather bring strangers straight inside.//

//Sure thing.// 

*

Jazz turned out to be charming, polite, and very much in love with someone he had only just met. He was also somewhat nosy, asking after the steelsilk tapestry on the wall and Skydance’s art projects, but fortunately ‘nosy’ came part and parcel with ‘easily distracted,’ so he didn’t set off too many alarm bells in Nightlight’s head. Fly-by-Night apparently agreed, since when later in the night Jazz showed off his talent at singing, he let the sparklings gather close around him to listen.

Watching the rapt faces of the little ones, Nightlight mused, //I suppose Starscream wouldn’t deign to hire a grounder as a spy.//

//The new Head of Intelligence would,// Fly-by-Night answered. //If he is who I think he is. I don’t think Jazz is one, though.//

Nightlight glanced at him briefly. //You don’t think so? His story is a bit… implausible.// And tugging at a hint of memory, but for the life of him Nightlight couldn’t think why Jazz’s description of the mech disguised as a psychopomp seemed familiar.

Fly-by-Night smiled faintly as Jazz’s song ended and their visitor was rewarded with sparkling-cuddles. //A spy would have endeavored to be a bit more subtle.//

//Well...I suppose.//

As it was, Jazz was a practised enough singer than the little ones were happy to cuddle in and listen until Helios drifted into recharge, and several of the others weren’t far behind him. Nightlight glanced over to Radiant and received a warm smile and a nod - she was still finding it hard to take time for herself with a very small sparkling who needed her, but Jazz was proving to be an excellent distraction, and Nightlight didn’t mind putting the bits into recharge so she could have some adult-time with the others.

“All right, my darlings, off to sleep,” he called softly, getting up from his chair and stretching. “Skydance, can you go get the hammocks out?” 

‘Dance grinned knowingly at him and trotted off with nothing other than a wave, and Nightlight smiled back before turning to the huddle of little ones. “Thank you. Jazz, thank you so much for entertaining them.”

“Was my pleasure,” came the reply, Dash wrapping around his new friend for one last hug. “Seriously, I’ll come and sing for ‘em anytime.”

“I’m sure you would be more than welcome,” Nightlight said with a smile of his own, then lifted up onto his antigravs to avoid disturbing the huddles of sleepy bitlets. He gently worked the limp little bundle of Helios up from Jazz’s lap and into his arms, cradling the tinybit at his shoulder, and bent again to stroke Zippy’s shoulder and Boo’s helm. “Now, come along, sweetest-bits. Jazz can come back sometime and you can play more then.”

There were a few sleepy complaints, but on the whole the little ones were up later than was their usual wont, and even the younglings amongst them needed rest and recharge. Nightlight glanced back at Jazz, lingering over his worries - maybe Jazz wasn’t a spy, and the little ones seemed to adore his easy smile. It didn’t seem like he was aiming to try anything against the family Night would do anything to protect, and it really wasn’t fair to be against any new person that got invited to Little Vos...

Nightlight’s optics flickered over the stranger flopped easily on his floor, and decided that he’d do his best to trust Jazz and see what came of it. He smiled, and something in his spark eased when Jazz lit up and beamed back at him. 

He was, however, relieved when Radiant took up the majority of Jazz’s attention by demanding details of his romantic rendezvous, distracting the Polyhexian from more questions and leaving Nightlight to hang back and observe.

*

The next oncycle, Siren sent an alert to Little Vos - Jazz had been attacked in the night.

_Starscream!_ was Nightlight’s first and only thought, as he flew to the Temple behind Fly-by-Night on wings that trembled with anger and worry. _Is there nothing he won’t stoop to?_ Because an attack like this could have only one message: that of power and threat. _Look what I can do to anyone you care about._ Fly-by-Night hung back to speak to the Temple’s security mechs while Nightlight transformed and all but ran to the medical ward.

He was halted by the attendant medic, who offered her name as Downshift. “Your little one is sitting with Jazz now,” she told Nightlight softly, seriously. “But what happened shouldn’t be heard by little audials.”

_Oh, Spires,_ Nightlight thought, spark clenching coldly in its chamber. “Of course.”

“Jazz was attacked by a sparkeater,” she said plainly, and Nightlight stared at her for a long moment, sure he had misheard. “He had been sent a _Homeless_ game - something that claims to listen for the frequencies of wandering sparks, if you’re not familiar with them in Vos - and it turns out to have been a genuine tool rather than just a toy. It gave something worse an opening to materialise.”

“I’m- I’m sorry, what?” 

“A sparkeater,” she repeated patiently. “It clawed through his plating and compromised his spark chamber’s integrity, with the result that he’s currently in stasis until he stabilises. He should recover with no permanent ill effects, but it’s not a story I would want Dash to overhear.”

Nightlight wasn’t sure he wanted to hear it himself, at least not without a chair nearby. “A sparkeater,” he said, searching her face for any sign that he’d got confused. “Not - I thought - when I heard Jazz had been attacked, I assumed...Starscream.”

The medic’s expression softened in understanding, reaching up to lay a gentle hand on his arm. “No, nothing like that. It was an unlucky mistake, one that I doubt Jazz will ever make again. Will you be all right seeing him now?”

Night cycled his vents and straightened, giving her a slightly shaken nod. “I do have questions, but most of them can wait. The- the sparkeater, what happened to it?”

“Don’t worry. It was destroyed, and the remains taken to be disposed of safely. It won’t harm anyone again.” Downshift patted his arm reassuringly, and Nightlight huffed through his vents.

“All right, then. Yes, let’s go.”

Downshift led him into a small private room where Jazz lay on the berth; Dash stood beside his berth and turned to them when the medic entered, and Nightlight went straight to his little one to kneel and tuck him up tight into a hug.

“He should recover fully,” Downshift said, and Nightlight felt Dash wiggle a little in his arms. “Our scans indicate that his sparkmatter is intact, and there is no damage to his frame aside from a few dents where I assume he fell against his berth. However, night terrors are common for at least the first few cycles after an experience such as this - I don’t recommend he remain alone at night until they subside. Do you know if he has family in the area?”

“The only family he mentioned was his twin in Polyhex,” Nightlight answered. “I don’t know if Ricochet can get away from his business very easily.” He hesitated, Dash’s small hand curling trustingly against his plating, then said firmly, “If he agrees to it, we’ll look after him.”

Downshift nodded gratefully. “That would be kind of you.” Nightlight would have responded, but he was distracted by Dash’s voice - at first thinking Dash was talking to him, but upon looking at his bitlet he realized Dash was addressing - seemingly empty air.

“...and you didn’t hurt him,” he was saying, his voice stubborn as though he were in the middle of an argument. “I know that.”

“Dash?” Nightlight was torn between worry and amusement - Dash was a talker, but he didn’t usually talk to himself very much. “Who are you talking to?”

Dash blinked, startled. He looked at Nightlight, then searchingly at the medic, then at the empty space on his other side again, before seeming to make up his mind. “I’m talking to Prowl,” he said firmly. “He’s the psychopomp Jazz was looking for, remember?”

_Just how far has this fantasy life of yours gone, Dash?_ Imaginary playmates were one thing, especially when they’d first come to Praxus and Dash didn’t have anyone his own age to play with, but this… “Dashlet, Jazz was looking for someone painted up to look like a psychopomp-”

“No he _wasn’t,_ ” Dash interrupted, scowling impatiently. “He’s standing right there, you just can’t see him. Most people can’t and it’s not _fair,_ he’s really nice and he thinks it’s his fault Jazz got hurt!”

Nightlight pressed a hand to his cockpit, hardly knowing what to say. Beside him, Downshift hummed thoughtfully. “I had wondered.”

_What?_

Downshift was nodding respectfully to the empty space beside Dash, and Nightlight suddenly wasn’t sure he wasn’t dreaming this whole thing. “Your pardon, guardian - we had wondered, mostly since very few of your rank remain for long.”

“I don’t think I like this talking to invisible people,” Nightlight said faintly, trying to make it sound like a joke; Dash wriggled impatiently where Night couldn’t help holding him tighter, and Downshift’s indulgent smile didn’t reassure him in the least.

“It can be jarring for those not used to it,” she said. “If it reassures you at all, I would trust a psychopomp as I would any other Enforcer. They hold essentially the same position on another spectrum that most simply can’t pick up - they would never do your sparkling harm.”

“I talked to Prowl right after we got here and you said it was okay,” Dash protested. Night blinked and hurriedly cast his mind back, then winced - he had, hadn’t he? That very first visit to the park with Dash still so upset...

“I’m sorry, sweetest, but this is - this is a very new thing for me.” He hesitated briefly, then grimaced and told the whole truth; “I thought you were talking to a made-up friend instead of someone I couldn’t see. ...I’m sorry, sweetest. I know you wouldn’t just make things up, but I didn’t realise-” At the look of hurt on his sparkling’s face, Nightlight snuggled him closer and sighed through his vents. “...well. I do now. ...may I meet your friend? Properly, this time?”

Dash looked up at him with such a grave little face that Nightlight briefly thought he’d lost his little one’s trust, before his bitlet spoke again. “Carrier, meet Prowl, Jazz’s boyfriend. Prowl, this is my carrier, Nightlight.”

Shifting on his knees, trying to guess where he was supposed to look, Nightlight did his best to summon up a smile. His little one had done so well with his best manners, Nightlight could only do the same. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said as politely as he could. “Any friend of my Dashlet’s is a friend of mine.”

Downshift coughed static softly, and when Nightlight blinked over to her in confusion she gave him a smile. “I can hear him too, if very faintly,” she told him. “The guardian begs pardon for your distress, and says he was as surprised as you are when Dash talked to him first. He says Dash is a good, kind-sparked little one.” 

“I know,” Nightlight said softly as Dash wriggled in his arms. “I can’t take the credit for that, but I know.”

“Carrier,” Dash muttered, and seemed about to protest - at least until there was a faint shift on the berth and Jazz’s visor flickered against the medbay’s lights.

“Prowl?” he croaked, and Dash squeaked quietly in relief, clutching at Nightlight’s arms. Downshift moved quietly closer to the berth and Nightlight stayed back with Dashlet out of her way, but Jazz wasn’t looking at the medic; he was smiling softly at what seemed like empty air, brightening into the same look of devotion made somewhat fuzzy by just coming out of stasis. “Hey. There y’are.”

Nightlight blinked, and quietly resigned himself to being the only one in the room unable to see what in the world was going on.


	11. ALL OF THE WARNINGS in this chapter!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we revisit Vos at long last. Starscream looks forward to the return of his intended and the Celebration of Lights, and yet, somehow, things...do not go as he'd planned. This is The Chapter Of Many Warnings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...okay. Here we go. This chapter is All About Vos, and with that in mind, PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS. This is not a happy chapter for anyone involved, and the last thing we want is anyone getting caught by surprise. D:
> 
> In which we have, in order:
> 
> Verbal sniping and belittling other people, hitting a servant, hitting another servant, hitting a youngling, abuse of power (sending someone off to the War Academy when they don't want to enlist and can't get out of it), lots of yelling, discussion of past physically-abusive parenting in the abstract, rampant snobbery, mismatching expectations for relationships and raising a family, and a breakup that involves a temper tantrum and smashing up the room (only after the other partner leaves the building).
> 
> I doubt somehow that most of this will come as a surprise to anyone at this point of the story, honestly, but please take care of yourselves. Moogle and I have just moved to a new flat and are going to be without internet for a few days (I'm posting this from the local library), so we'll only be replying after a few days' pause.

The room was a shambles. Thundercracker carefully picked his way through the broken datapads and shards of mirror to the balcony, where his lord was slumped over the railing, vents roaring but otherwise uncharacteristically quiet.

“He’s safely away, my lord,” Thundercracker said, soft enough to barely disturb the silence, and stood by the doorway, braced for the next surge of rage.

Starscream’s shoulders hunched; he pressed his clasped hands to his helm. “I am,” he muttered, “an _idiot.”_

Thundercracker blinked, but offered no opinion on his lord’s statement either way, and after a moment Starscream straightened with a hoarse laugh. “What am I doing, thinking of such things anyway?” he asked the sky. “I am the Heir to the Winglord! When it comes time to make an heir of my own, I can hire a surrogate for the purpose. Until then I have far too much to do to secure my power - and Vos’s.”

He turned, walking fearlessly over the frightful mess he’d created, and Thundercracker fell into step behind him. “Summon Sunfire,” he ordered. “Tell him to meet me in the War Room.”

“Yes, my lord.”

*

It had all been going so _well._ Skyfire had arrived alone, which was better by far than Starscream had hoped for - it wouldn’t have been out of bounds for his family to send an escort of their own under the circumstances, but there was no slight in Skyfire coming alone. He landed at the gates of Bridgeway and seemed content to _walk_ in through the _grounder_ entrance like a nobody, but thankfully Starscream had had an honour guard waiting for his arrival and they swept him up before he’d had to endure such an unspectacular entry to Starscream’s city. He would have rushed out to meet Skyfire himself, but he was wise enough in his impatience to know that he wouldn’t have been able to stop himself from clinging to Skyfire in front of the entire city.

...while he wouldn’t mind doing that sooner rather than later, he wasn’t entirely sure he’d be able to keep his composure at the same time.

The honour guard had escorted Skyfire up through the most striking route to Highcrest Gate and the eirie perched on the uppermost levels, and while it was still too early for the lanterns to be lit for the Celebration of Lights, Starscream knew better than anyone just how beautiful Vos could be on first approach. He fidgeted and paced in his own quarters for just long enough to time things perfectly for Skyfire’s arrival in the eirie, sweeping out of the heir’s wing and into the main halls with his cloak flaring out behind him - he’d had it made specially for the occasion and the silksmith assured him that he looked _dazzling_ , even before the cycle-long soak and polish regime he’d gone through. Skyfire and the honour guard - hand-picked from the best and brightest Academy recruits, which made the whole thing worth it even if he did eventually decide not flatten Iacon’s Council after all - were just touching down on the grand pavilion’s private landing strip, and all of Starscream’s plans to make a grand entrance flew out of his processor.

“Skyfire!” he cried, and the honour guard smartly hopped out of his path as Starscream kicked into the air and flung himself into the shuttle’s arms.

For a moment, it was as though they’d never been apart - the time and distance between them fell away as Skyfire folded his arms around Starscream. “It’s good to see you,” he murmured into the side of Starscream’s helm. “You look well.”

Starscream’s spark thrilled within him. The hours he’d spent getting ready and the expense of the cloak was all _worth_ it, just for this moment. “You look wonderful,” he said, beaming as he pulled back to take in all of Skyfire’s substantial presence. “I have so much to tell you! Have you fueled? Never mind, there’s plenty, come on-” He grabbed Skyfire’s hand and hauled.

Skyfire didn’t budge, and while his steadiness was one of his more admirable traits it wasn’t what Starscream wanted just now. “Skyfire?” he asked. “Is something wrong?”

“Starscream,” Skyfire began, distance in his optics, before shaking his head. “...never mind. Let’s go.”

This time when Starscream tugged Skyfire went, and the honor guard, happy to be ignored, dispersed at a signal from their trineleader.

*

Unsurprisingly, several of the inhabitants of the Winglord’s Eirie had gathered _totally naturally and not at all on purpose_ to see just who Starscream was inviting into their territory. Some of the eirie Skyfire had met before on his first brief visit to Vos - and Starscream had cursed himself so many times for not making more of that short, shining opportunity, before Skyfire had been returned to him - but those who had gathered at the pavilion were drawn to see more of this intriguing and handsome scientist their Heir had been making so many preparations for. No sign of Sunfire; no surprise, his sibling was likely still entertaining himself with the War Academy, but there were plenty of cousins and second-trine siblings trying not to look jealous.

Starscream preened, snuggled his hand more firmly into Skyfire’s elbow, and set about making introductions as the highest-ranked family member present. “Skyfire, _dearspark,_ allow me to introduce a little more of my family. Ellipse, Eclipse and Solar Flare over there are spark of Nova, spark of Corona, my own sparker’s sparker - Eclipse’s trine are off doing...something, I’m sure, but you’ll meet them later. They have a second trine of siblings, off at their lessons I hope- and ah, Cassegrain!” he added, spotting a familiar shadow passing the pavilion entryway with a thrill of glee. “Cassegrain is spark of Zenith, Nova’s trinesib. Cassegrain! Come here and meet my _guest._ ”

His trine of younger cousins gave Skyfire glancing once-overs and a shallow nod apiece that barely covered the sneer lingering in their fields - Starscream ignored their insolence for the moment as Cassegrain approached, short, blunt nose in the air as usual. _Probably to keep that ridiculous reticule attached to his face,_ he snickered to himself, and squeezed Skyfire’s arm.

“Cassegrain fancies himself a research scientist,” he told Skyfire, letting the disparaging tone creep into his voice, and awarded himself a point as Cass’s pale face heated. “Oh, where are my manners - Skyfire, this is Grace Cassegrain of the Distant Night, spark of Zenith, spark of Corona. Cass, this is Skyfire, graduate of both the Tarnian _and_ Iaconian Science Academies. You might have read some of his work.”

The lengthy formal protocol was _utterly worth it_ for Cassegrain’s hungry, envious optics and the gnawing ripple in his field. His trine might be fair scientists in their own way, but _no-one_ could stand up to Skyfire and Cass clearly knew it.

Skyfire sketched a bow - awkward, he was unused to it, but clearly making an effort to - as the saying went - when in Vos, do as the Vosians do. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Your Grace. May I ask what your field of study is?”

Cassegrain’s mouth opened, more startled than sneering this time - but Starscream broke in before he could make a sound. “He dabbles, really. He’s never even published anything.” Cassegrain’s mouth closed and his expression went just shy of openly mutinous; Starscream smirked at him and tugged Skyfire on.

“Was that really necessary?” Skyfire asked, pained.

“Was what?” Starscream asked. “Oh, there’s Zenith and Nova. Come on.”

Skyfire grimaced, but quickened his stride. “...I don’t need to compete with your family in lengthy titles,” he said. “Can’t I just be Skyfire, please?”

Starscream squeezed his arm. “None of that, my dear. That sort of humility may be fine in Tarn, but we’re in Vos now, and I’m going to see that you get the respect you deserve.”

Skyfire gave a discontent rumble and glanced back at Cassegrain, but didn’t protest again.

*

Introducing Skyfire to everyone of importance in their path kept Starscream gleefully distracted, but when they reached the sumptuous suite he’d cleared for Skyfire’s personal use - for now, at least - he closed and locked the door behind them and just...held on for a moment.

“I missed you so much,” he murmured, and over his head Skyfire’s optics softened. One immensely broad hand rested at the small of Starscream’s back, and he thrilled to the gentle touch - Skyfire’s hand was big enough to span from the base of his wings to his hips, from his side past the line of his backstruts, strong enough to crush metal if his gentle giant set that brilliant processor to it, and still Starscream knew down to the core of himself that Skyfire would never hurt him. He’d missed that security so _much,_ even as his position solidified in Vos and his power grew.

Skyfire’s other hand lifted, cradled the back of his helm so delicately, and Starscream smiled up at him with optics that were briefly too damp. Stupid malfunctioning regulators.

“I missed you too,” Skyfire rumbled, and Starscream snuggled into his partner’s arms, glowing with happiness.

“I want you to stay with me in Vos,” he murmured, curling his fingers around the familiar edges of Skyfire’s plating. “I want you to be my consort. I want to lay the world at your pedes - you deserve no less.”

Skyfire’s vents caught. “That’s - quite a proposal. I’m honored you think so much of me…”

“I understand you must be overwhelmed.” Starscream turned his face up, resting his chin on Skyfire’s chestplate with a smile. “It’s all right. You don’t have to answer right now. There’s still so much I need to show you, after all.”

Skyfire returned the smile, but it was a faint thing. “Thank you,” he said, broad palm sliding gently over Starscream’s back. “I do need time to think. I’m still - adrift in time, in a lot of ways.”

“You will have all the time you need,” Starscream swore. “And everything else you could possibly desire in the meantime.”

Skyfire shifted in his arms. “Starscream, you don’t need to - to bribe me, or to spoil me. My feelings are for you, not for your fortune or your prestige.”

“And _that,_ my dear,” Starscream said, “is why you deserve to be spoiled. Because you’re the only person in the world who can honestly say that.”

*

Altihex wasn’t _so_ distant from Vos, but it still must have been a taxing journey for Skyfire to make unsupported so soon after his imprisonment in the ice. Starscream could more than understand why he’d done it, would have wanted all the reassurance he could get that he was free to stretch his wings if he’d been in the same position, but he still fussed Skyfire straight into the baths the moment he let his shuttle go. Starscream would have followed him in, but his own wax and polish were only a little shy of immaculate still, and the last thing Starscream wanted was to give any of his relatives ammunition to snipe at either of them at the formal dinner. A patchy wax simply wouldn’t do.

That and Skyfire deserved all the pampering Starscream could possibly summon, and the bath attendants in the Winglord’s eirie were the finest in Vos. They shepherded Skyfire into the first of the washracks with all due deference, and Starscream chuckled and waggled his fingers in a wave at the slightly alarmed look Skyfire shot back at him.

“Have fun,” he crooned, and settled in to buff his own polish up while he waited.

Skyfire emerged looking shiny and shellshocked; Starscream, having shed his cape, finished his own ablutions and looking like _gorgeousness personified,_ if he did say so himself, rose to meet him with an appreciative gleam in his optics. “Feeling better?”

“Ah, yes. Your attendants are very - ah - attentive.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Starscream answered. “Now, you need a cape. No no,” he interrupted before Skyfire could do much more than open his mouth, “you can borrow one of mine tonight, don’t worry. Though I will need to get your measurements for a few of your own.”

“Starscream, please,” Skyfire protested, hands in the air as Starscream pinged his wardrobe servants. “That’s far too much, I can’t accept-”

The wardrobe doors opened, and Skyfire stopped on a faint squeak as the room suddenly seemed filled with bodyservants. Quick, efficient, and somewhat cowed, they presented their lord with armfuls of neatly-folded capes for him to peruse. “Now, let me see,” he mused, picking up the nearest one and shaking it out to see its design. “No, no, too old-fashioned.” He tossed it carelessly over the servant’s shoulder. “Too short - too long - I told you the formal ones, this is for daywear!” he shrieked suddenly, the side of his hand striking the servant’s helm with a clang. The servant withdrew apologetically as Skyfire cringed.

“Starscream,” he repeated, more quietly.

“I know, I know, but this is a formal dinner,” Starscream told him, already forgetting the servant’s infraction. “You’ll stick out like a sore flap if you’re _not_ caped, believe me. I want them to see that you can just as easily belong here as any of them.” He pulled a deep blue cape and swirled it over Skyfire’s shoulders, turning to the mirror to critique his reflection. “Trust me, my dear, I’ve been doing this for a long time.”

“...I know,” Skyfire said, his gaze drifting again to the servant Starscream had struck.

*

It spoke volumes of how highly Starscream was held in Ephemeris’ opinion that the formal meal was being held in the Grand Ballroom. It was the Winglord’s right to decide whether formal occasions were held in state rooms, ballrooms or the wax cabinet, and that Ephemeris had chosen one of the most dazzling rooms in the eirie was - promising.

They arrived at the entryway just in time to sweep through the doors in a grand display - Starscream cloaked in the Heir’s purple, Skyfire in a shade of blue that matched Starscream’s - _Vos’_ \- colours perfectly, as well as complimenting Skyfire’s optics. He would definitely have to have at least one cloak made up in that colour, both formalwear and something more day-to-day...

Starscream squeezed Skyfire’s arm as the shuttle tensed under the optics of Starscream’s waiting family, opening up a comm to him. //Don’t worry; you’ll be wonderful. Just remember to keep your head below the Winglord’s line of sight and you’ll be fine.//

//I know,// Skyfire replied, and that was all they had time for before Starscream led their rise from the intricately-patterned tiles to make their courtesies to the Winglord and his twin.

“Highest of Vos Oversoaring,” he bowed, first to Ephemeris and then to the shadow at his shoulder. “You honour us.”

Ephemeris’ thin lips quirked, and Starscream was both proud and _so relieved_ that Skyfire had managed to both bow perfectly and match his altitude to Starscream’s, all without a single mid-air hiccup. All the more reason to be sure that Skyfire was the best choice he ever could have made.

“Won’t you introduce your guest, my Heir?” It wasn’t a question, not in the slightest, but Starscream certainly wasn’t about to pass the opportunity down.

“It would give me _great_ pleasure,” Starscream said with a brilliant smile, and laid a possessive hand on Skyfire’s arm. “Ephemeris, Winglord of Vos Oversoaring, spark of Windsong spark of Cirrus, may I introduce Skyfire of Altihex, graduate of Tarn and Iacon, and my intended.”

Skyfire’s vents stuttered at that, almost imperceptibly - excitement, no doubt. Or nervousness, given every optic in the ballroom was turned to him. Poor thing, he wasn’t used to being the center of attention. “A pleasure, Seeker Skyfire, to finally put a face to the name. We didn’t have the opportunity to meet the last time you were here, but I have heard of your companionship with Lord Starscream.”

 _//Seeker?//_ Skyfire shot at Starscream, sounding almost panicked, but aloud only said, “I’m honored you remember, Highest.”

Behind Ephemeris, Eccentricity’s optics creased and his head tilted. Ephemeris smiled. “Of course. You are welcome here; be seated and enjoy yourself.”

 _//Easier said than done,//_ Skyfire muttered over their comm line.

Starscream patted his hand. _//You’re doing fine. ‘Seeker’ is an honourific not many outside of Vos earn. Trust me - you’ll be one of us in no time.//_

Skyfire’s optics flickered out briefly, and Starscream couldn’t puzzle out why.

No matter - Ephemeris was waving them away with that faintly amused _look_ of his, and Starscream bowed again and drew Skyfire away to their seats.

Someone had actually dragged Lightspeed down from his tower, Starscream noted as they settled onto Starscream’s chaise. Their creator had rarely left his experiments even when Starscream and his siblings were small, and it generally took multiple pings, alarms fit to shake the lab towers and eventually being physically picked up and carried to wherever he had to be to get Lightspeed to a formal event on time. Skyfire shifted uncomfortably on their chaise, and Starscream, distracted, hovered solicitously until his partner was settled. The antigravs of the long lounger were more than capable of keeping both himself and Skyfire steady in the air, whatever they might get up to during dinner - Skyfire shot him a _look_ at the hidden little smile that prompted - and Starscream made a show of snuggling into Skyfire’s side when his partner was reclining comfortably, glancing around to see who was paying attention to them.

Lightspeed, naturally, was oblivious to everything but the datapad he must have wandered in with. Given that Starscream hadn’t seen his sparker for more than a click at a time since he’d returned from the Academy _without Skyfire -_ well. It was a pleasing sign that either Lightspeed had pulled his helm down from the clouds - unlikely - or someone had been thorough enough to force him away from his labs. Corona, most likely. Eir lightly-padded chaise was off to one side and a little below Ephemeris and Eccentricity’s ouroboros couch, subtly close to eir sparker and his twin in a way that was deliberately calculated to rankle eir siblings. Not that Prominence was difficult to irritate at the best of times, and indeed he was alternating glowers between both Corona and Starscream himself already. Starscream gave him a sweet, smug smile and wriggled a little closer into Skyfire’s side, and almost purred when Skyfire’s arm settled around him. _Perfect._

Those who didn’t happen to be Ephemeris’ current or longstanding favourites fanned out through the hall, and Starscream noted just who was where with a quick and practised optic as the liveried dinner service jetted up to them on quiet wings. The curved serving arm of Starscream’s personalised chaise was fitted to display whatever was offered to him - and his partner - to its best advantage, and Starscream meant to make sure that Skyfire enjoyed everything on offer, but that didn’t mean he shouldn’t keep an optic on the game.

Lesser flightframes in Ephemeris’ colours began circling with dishes of smaller delicacies, offering up servings to the Winglord’s chaise first and moving downward through the room. Starscream gestured lazily for a little of everything to be carefully arranged in front of Skyfire, and stole a little foam from his shuttle’s fingers with a teasing smirk. _Point to me._

He and Skyfire had been served second to the Winglord, as the Heir and Consort-Intended, which meant that Corona, Prominence and Gravitonne followed them in rank. Corona was gracious enough and never lingered overlong over eir choices, but that and the servants coming close enough to serve meant they were also close enough to offend Prominence if he was in a bad mood. If they were lucky, they might even get dinner and a show!

The confectionary artists were in their usual fine form today. Skyfire looked a bit overwhelmed by the sheer numbers and variety of fine nibbles Starscream presented him with, but that was fine - it just meant Starscream got to practice his Coax. “Here you are,” he said, waving a whipped-silver confection under Skyfire’s nose, “open wide.”

“Starscream, I thought we were on our best behavior tonight,” Skyfire protested, leaning back against the chaise’s arm.

“Best behavior for Highest Family,” Starscream pointed out smugly, “isn’t the same as best behavior for the common folk.”

“Don’t I know it,” the shuttle muttered sourly, but at a gentle nudge from his _intended_ Skyfire opened his mouth and allowed Starscream to slip the piece in. Starscream traced a fingertip over Skyfire’s lip as he withdrew, unable to resist, and Skyfire’s optics slowly lightened as he tasted the confection.

“That’s very good,” he commented.

“Isn’t it? You never saw this kind of care and craft in Iacon.” Starscream picked up a similar goodie for himself, scrutinising it admiringly before popping it into his mouth. “I missed this at the Academy. Nobody knew how to make a proper fancy confection, even those stuck-up Towerlings. Remember when my nickname was ‘barbarian’ for half a semester because I wouldn’t use those ridiculous utensils of theirs?” Skyfire winced and Starscream angrily wolfed down another confection. “Well, _they’re_ all living their useless lives in their useless Towers now and _I’m_ Heir to Vos Oversoaring - let _that_ stick in their intakes!”

Back in the Academy, Starscream’s ire would have lanced through every other voice in the room, instantly making him the center of attention. Here, it simply blended in with the ongoing clatter of Highest Family voices, sharp and proud and shameless. Skyfire was so disoriented that when the loud _crack_ of metal on metal came, he half expected it to have come from Starscream himself.

It had not: Prominence, who’d been shooting murderous looks at the Heir and his guest all evening for daring to have the rank to float over his head, was lowering his hand with a self-satisfied air; the servant he’d struck was sinking to the floor, one hand covering her face. The rest of the servants were very careful not to look at her; the Winglord and Starscream ignored her completely; the lower-ranked members of the Highest Family aimed smirks her way.

“-slag this,” Skyfire muttered and slid off the chaise, and Starscream flopped against the cushions in shock, unable to grab him back in time.

“Skyfire,” he hissed, and clenched his fists when his partner _ignored_ him. “ _Skyfire!_ Get _back_ here, what are you _doing?!_ ”

“-and get out of my sight, you impudent-” Prominence’s gleeful tirade cut short as Skyfire dropped to the floor in a quick, controlled descent. He reached the smaller Vosian just as she sank to the tiles in a wobbly little heap; smaller and slighter than any of the Highest Family, Skyfire’s reinforced shuttle frame loomed over her, and a flash of utter terror lit her optics a brilliant green-

Skyfire knelt beside her and held a massive hand out, and the ballroom fell utterly silent as the entire Highest Family stared at him in disbelief.

“Are you all right?” he asked gently, and the serving-mech trembled from wingtips to pedes. Her hand slid away from the dent in the thin plating of her face, white topcoat scratched with Prominence’s blue paint, and for all that Skyfire’s optics darkened seeing it he only smiled kindly at her and offered his hand again.

“ _‘All right?’_ ” Prominence cried, his voice thin and shrill after Skyfire’s rumbling tenor. “How _dare_ you! That glitching little gearbug is barred from service - you! Get that thing out of my sight!”

The server indicated by Prominence’s stabbing point managed to hide eir flinch just in time, quickly shoving the dish of sweetened foam ei carried into another servant’s hands and diving down to the scene below. Starscream’s fists tightened until his joint ground together, feeling more than seeing the glances the rest of the Family were shooting him, the scattered mocking giggles and whispers making his audials buzz with static. Prominence’s chosen serving mech dropped to the tiles beside the dented one, tugging her up to her pedes. She seemed too frightened to take the hand Skyfire offered her - Starscream wanted to smack her himself both for not seeing Skyfire’s kindness and the honour he was doing her, and at the thought of her low hands touching _his intended._ Both servers jetted for the serving hatch as quickly as they could, and Skyfire straightened slowly; the look he gave Prominence as he rose was enough to quell the older mech’s petulant engine-whine, and for all that Starscream wanted to _shake_ the foolish shuttle he still had to gloat at that. Just a little.

“If we are all _quite_ finished with our various displays,” Ephemeris said coldly, and Skyfire seemed to barely register that some of the Winglord’s displeasure fell on his own wings. The hum of exclamations and comments instantly rose to a dull roar, and if Skyfire heard any of the words as he rose back into the air he didn’t react.

“How much longer before we can go,” Skyfire muttered as soon as he reached Starscream’s chaise, twisting awkwardly in midair to sit on the edge instead of lounging comfortably.

“A while yet,” Starscream answered, and couldn’t help adding, “you noble, _foolish_ mech.”

Skyfire pressed his lips together, optics dark, and for the first time it occurred to Starscream that perhaps Skyfire wasn’t happy to be here.

“Skyfire,” he said, trying to make his voice gentle, not even sure what he was going to say - Skyfire shook his head sharply.

“Not here, Starscream,” he said simply, and Starscream knew without having to look that his intended was right - they were being watched, all the more after Skyfire’s baffling display of pity for a disgraced servant, and now was the worst time for a spark-to-spark. He still urged Skyfire back down into the curl of the lounger, and if any of his family took that as a show of support for what Skyfire had done - well, he would deal with it later.

They ate in silence, simmering in unhappy tension as gossip buzzed about below them and Prominence grumbled resentfully about foreigners. At last the Winglord indicated he was done with the final course, and Starscream caught Skyfire’s optic and tilted his head. The two of them caused a fresh round of gossip when they quietly made their escape, but for once in his life Starscream didn’t care.

*

The next few cycles didn’t get much easier. Starscream emerged from his quarters determined to make things work, to show his city and his holdings to their best advantage, and whirled Skyfire off on a Grand Tour of Vos that was _guaranteed_ to dazzle him.

A few briefly-shining moments aside, Skyfire did not seem very dazzled.

He loved exploring the high network of laboratories of Farsight Gate; Farsight had individual labs dedicated to particular disciplines, those belonging to established scientists of note - Lightspeed was one, Collodion another, but Starscream made sure they neither interrupted his sparker at his work nor ran into his stuck-up cousin. They did stumble across cousin Cepheid, but he was even more easily shot down than Collodion and only stuttered out a few words on his pet project before Starscream swept Skyfire past.

“Honestly,” he scoffed. “Nobody wants to hear about his progress. What sort of idiot takes reactors and propulsion units for a _city_ seriously? You might as well slap thrusters onto Cybertron itself!”

Skyfire pressed his lips together and didn’t reply.

The off-shift outings to concerts and dance displays went over somewhat better, though they left Starscream feeling irrationally jealous of the performers for Skyfire’s attention. Skyfire liked music and liked art, and Vosian dancers were the finest on Cybertron - yet Starscream still sensed something missing. Skyfire was withdrawing from him, and Starscream couldn’t figure out why except that it had started at that inexplicably disastrous dinner party. Which was a problem, because Starscream’s family wasn’t going away any time soon, no matter how much he might wish it.

*

The insistent pings for entry were just about enough to rouse Starscream from a sound recharge - he flailed grumpily, threatened dire if nonspecific fates at whoever dared to disturb his repose, then blinked in confusion as beside him Skyfire rose. “Go back to recharge,” Skyfire murmured, patting his arm, but Starscream wasn’t about to let some uncouth relation get access to his Skyfire without him there to supervizzzzzzz...

-gah!

Starscream scrambled out of berth and into the receiving room, where the rumble of a familiar and trusted voice was almost overwhelmed by three decidedly _less_ -than-beloved ones. “What are you three doing here?” he demanded, and his younger sibling-trine turned a trio of identical smirks on him.

“Their Graces are here to invite us out to a picnic, Starscream,” Skyfire said, seemingly oblivious to the true natures of Parallax, Nebula and Radial. Starscream glared narrowly at them in turn - _now what are you three up to?_

Parallax’s smirk turned into something wider and openly gleeful, the stupid little brat.

“Why, brother dear, anyone would think you didn’t _want_ us to meet your intended,” she said sweetly, and Starscream’s fists clenched.

“I wouldn’t trust you not to trip over your own pedes on your way out of the door, _dear_ littlesib,” he hissed; frag this, he was _not_ in the mood, or appropriately awake. “So I _suppose_ I can be spared to sparkling-sit. Solus knows what kind of embarrassment the three of you would make of yourselves otherwise.”

“Like picking servants off the floor at dinner?” Radial giggled not-quite-quietly. Nebula promptly elbowed him in the side, giving Skyfire an innocent little smile when the shuttle gave eir trinesib a sharp look.

“We’d very much like it if _you_ could come, Seeker Skyfire,” ei said, rocking up a little on eir pedes and fluttering eir wings hopefully. Spires help Starscream if he and Skyfire ever found a sparkbearer for their heirs; the dear soft-sparked idiot was falling for eir innocent act hook, line and leaker.

“We would be honoured, provided that Starscream didn’t have anything planned for the cycle,” he said, and Starscream was slightly - slightly! - mollified at that ceding of authority. On the other hand, it meant Skyfire was giving him one of those meaningful looks again, and like slag if he could interpret that after being so rudely awakened.

“All right, fine, we’ll go along to chaperone,” Starscream growled. “But if there is one single crooked goodie in that picnic of yours, _you’re_ the ones up in front of the Winglord’s mercy.”

The trine of little monsters all beamed at him, and Starscream’s internals roiled. So much for his reeling Skyfire back in and keeping the family out from his airspace.

*

“The goodies are very tasty,” Skyfire acknowledged, and Starscream’s fingers twitched as his sibling-trine preened at the words.

“Our attendant Steeler is the best in the spire,” Parallax informed him. “She always grates extra cadmium on ours, just the way we like it. Winglord’s confectioners are so bland.”

“That’s ‘cause Winglord is _oooold,”_ Radial sneered, snatching one of the cadmium-heavy goodies. “Old as Primus.”

Nebula hissed at him, eir optics darting around the surrounding towertops. There were precious few people left in the art district of the spire, but those who remained were proven - or pretended - to be fanatically loyal to the Highest Family. The open platform they picnicked on, surrounded by statues praising the Winglord’s line, was either the best or worst place to find a spy, and it made Starscream nervous that he couldn’t decide which.

“Oh, don’t be such a grounder,” Radial was scoffing, and Nebula hunched eir shoulders. “Besides, our guest doesn’t want to talk about the Winglord, does he?” He turned his optics back to Skyfire. “I bet you have all kinds of questions about Vos. It’s different from any other city in the world.”

“Certainly different than Altihex,” Skyfire answered smoothly. “But Starscream is doing his best to show me everything. I’m more interested in you three.” He got a trio of baffled looks at that - no, _four,_ Starscream realized he was wearing the same stupid expression and quickly rearranged his face into something more haughty and dignified. “Do you study anything in particular?”

“Oh, uh - well, Parallax is starting astronavigation and theoretical mathematics early, and I’m-”

“-just going to bore Skyfire,” Starscream cut in, overriding Nebula’s stumbling. Honestly, why had Skyfire even asked-

“Not at all,” Skyfire said firmly, and to Starscream’s outraged shock gave Nebula a warm, encouraging smile that made all three of the younger Graces’ fields stutter before turning to Parallax. “Astronavigation is a fascinating subject - were you planning on going into scientific exploration too?”

Parallax briefly, visibly struggled for words, and Starscream was already sneering automatically at the loss of poise. “I wasn’t planning on going into the sciences,” she said after a moment, determinedly lifting her head. “But I definitely want to know how to navigate. Literally _and_ politically. It’s an important thing to learn, I think.”

“Absolutely,” Skyfire assured her, and the silly little thing actually _fluttered her ailerons_ at him. Starscream hissed a warning, turbines warming up, and all Parallax did was smirk at him as though she’d somehow scored a point.

“Of course,” she said all too innocently, “there’s plenty of important subjects we’re learning. Dancing, singing-” Nebula perked up as though ready to speak, but Parallax steamrollered any chance of her trinesib chiming in with the arrogant obliviousness of someone aiming to sneak in a jab. “History, that kind of thing. Especially family history.”

Starscream’s optics narrowed. He leaned in, one hand possessively sliding over Skyfire’s thigh and his wings settling wider, blocking out the slighter youngling’s line of sight. The little fool didn’t back down, her back straightening and chin lifting. If she wasn’t doing her damndest to clumsily pry her way under Starscream’s plating, he might have been amused.

“Do go on, dear sib,” he invited, silky-sweet. “Tell us _all_ about what you’ve been learning. I’m sure we’re all _dying_ to hear.”

Skyfire, bless his spark, was glancing between the two of them with one of his Looks brewing up like a thunderhead of good intentions. “Well,” he said almost gently, aiming to divert them from a head-on crash. “I can certainly see a family resemblance between the two of you, regardless of any history lesson.”

The platform may as well have iced over. Nebula and Radial both froze in place, optics widening in unison in a way that would at any other time have been funny; Skyfire paused, briefly confused at the abrupt change in atmosphere, then caught sight of Parallax and Starscream’s nigh-identical expressions of curdling hatred.

“We are _nothing_ alike!”

“How dare you!”

“How dare _he?_ ” Starscream snarled, optics flashing; his fingertips dug into Skyfire’s thigh, making the big shuttle hiss in startled pain. “How dare _you,_ you conniving little-”

Parallax let out a bloodcurdling shriek of fury, her engines slamming from idle to challenge in an instant as her temper flared. “Conniving?! _Me?_ That’s rich coming from you-”

_“Don’t you talk back to me-”_

“Starscream!” Skyfire snapped, but neither Vosian was listening.

“I’ll talk back to anyone I want!” Parallax shrieked, her optics blazing. Nebula tried to wrap eir hands around Parallax’s arm to tug her back, but the youngling trineleader yanked away from eir to push up from the platform and hover _over Starscream’s head._ “You’re only heir because Ephemeris had to pick _someone_ before he rusts, he’ll change his mind again in a click and then you’ll be-”

_Crack._

Parallax hit the platform in a crashing slide of plating, a trail of goodies crushed under her frame smeared along the platform in her wake. She didn’t move for a spark-stopping moment, and that was long enough for Starscream to lunge forward and drag her up by one narrow shoulder, her head lolling and optics dazed.

“You seem to have forgotten,” he hissed into her face, “who you are speaking to, _Grace._ You forget your place, and apparently you have forgotten _mine._ Perhaps a stint in the War Academy will beat some discipline into you!”

He only registered his hand was raised when a massive hand wrapped around his wrist, keeping it in the air. “That,” Skyfire intoned, as cold and hard as the ice that had entombed him, “is. Enough.”

Starscream’s grip loosened just enough that Parallax could scramble away. It was cold comfort that in that moment she looked just like that stupid servant who’d displeased Prominence - most of Starscream’s awareness was caught in a loop, trying to process _my Skyfire is standing against me. My only friend isn’t on my side._

“Parallax, Nebula, Radial,” Skyfire continued in much the same tone, “it was a pleasure to meet you, and I’m sorry if what I said gave offense. That said, I think we had better part ways now. I need to speak to Lord Starscream in private.”

Parallax was already wobbling up into the air. She sketched an entirely perfunctory bow - aimed at Skyfire, not Starscream, and _that was going to get taken out of her plating on a later date, mark his words_ \- and lit out for up-spire. Radial was hot on her heels. Only Nebula lingered - strange, ei wasn’t usually the brave one. Ei hesitated on the platform to give Skyfire a long glance full of questions; Skyfire answered with a silent, tight nod, and Nebula unhappily turned away to join eir trinesibs in the air.

“Well,” Starscream snapped, finally yanking his hand free. “That was a disaster. Why don’t you let me make the plans from now on. Rule one, no spontaneous outings with family-”

“Starscream.”

“-because _that_ happens, it always happens, you give a micron and they take a parsec-”

 _“Starscream.”_ Skyfire spoke over Starscream’s voice. “Were you hit too?”

“I - what?”

Starscream finally looked at Skyfire, as huge to him as his elders had been when he was young, and every bit as implacable and immovable. “It’s just - custom,” Starscream blurted. “It’s the responsibility of the superior to discipline the inferior. You shouldn’t interfere, it makes people unsure of which category you fall under.”

Thick white shoulders fell. “Hurting people who can’t fight back is a terrible custom, Starscream.”

“Parallax knew the consequences when she spoke like that to me.”

“And the servant? What did she do to deserve a dented face?”

“I wasn’t exactly watching,” Starscream snapped acidly. “The servants know what they’re getting into. No one’s forcing them to work for us.”

Skyfire pressed his lips together, and Starscream felt control of the situation slip from his fingers.

“You don’t understand,” he tried, scrabbling after it and looking up into Skyfire’s frighteningly distant expression. “The eirie sparks leaders; you learn to push higher and faster to take what you want. There’s an order to these things, and you have to keep proving that you’re the one on top, or someone else will take it from you. How else are we supposed to be competitive? ...and the servants don’t matter anyway. They know how they fit in just like Parallax does.”

Blue optics sparked, and for a fleeting moment Starscream almost ducked away from his - from his intended. Then Skyfire let out a slow, controlled exvent and shook his head, his wings drooping again. “And how would I fit in? If you decided I wasn’t showing you the right kind of respect, or you lost your temper - would you try to hit me, too?”

“Of course not!” Starscream blurted, both hands flying up to wrap around one of Skyfire’s - big, powerful hands that had always touched him so gently, even when Skyfire had grabbed his wrist like that, and by contrast the scuff of Parallax’s purple decoration-paint on Starscream’s own hand stood out like a brand. The sad, disbelieving look Skyfire gave him stung down to his core.

*

The Celebration of Lights was a solemn and beautiful time in Vos, but Starscream had no optics for it. His Skyfire (still _his,_ damn it-!) hadn’t offered any further criticism of his family’s ways, but he hadn’t offered much of anything else, and Starscream was - could this really be _him,_ thinking this? - afraid to push for more. He just - hovered, anxious and resentful by turns, until the off-cycle, when the Celebration really got started.

Thousands of lights - repulsor-lanterns, crafted especially for the festival - started to light all over the spires. Starscream had ordered two, a sad comedown from his usual dozen, but perhaps the problem was that he’d been coming on too strong all this time. Skyfire had been created a commoner, after all. So he accepted his meager two lanterns from the doormech, carried them through the lobby and onto the balcony, and offered them silently for Skyfire’s approval.

“Thank you,” Skyfire said, and held the lantern up to admire. It was cunningly crafted, with Highest Family motifs etched into the sides and scrolling writing along the edge of the round base. “So do we just…?”

“Not yet.” Starscream smiled briefly, encouraged by Skyfire’s interest. “There’ll be an open-comm chime to let us know.”

“I see.” Skyfire’s fingertips traced delicately over the glyphs and scrollwork, turning the lantern carefully in his hands. The decoration on the lantern matched the lamps dotted about the balcony, pools of light making shadows play along the dips and sharp angles of Skyfire’s frame. Starscream turned away to fuss with his own lantern before he forgot himself and moved in to touch - if he indulged himself they’d miss the lifting of the lanterns entirely, and that would hardly set a good precedent for the rest of the celebrations.

“Is there anything in particular I need to do?”

Starscream blinked, jolted out of his drifting thoughts and turning back to his intended. “Hmm? Oh - no, not yet. The Winglord starts the lifting of the lanterns all over Vos - the ones coming up from the lowest parts of the city will still be rising long after ours have disappeared. I’ll have a few words to say as Heir, but I’ll let you know when to lift yours up.”

Skyfire’s mouth tightened slightly at the mention of the Winglord, but - mercifully, frustratingly - he said nothing, only moving over to the edge of the balcony and the lamps attached there. Starscream watched him go, and only remembered the lantern in his hands when a faint crumpling rose from the fine translucent membrane. He swore softly, hurriedly brushed out the wrinkles and almost leaped into the air when the chime came through on his comm.

The monitor screen showed a dimly-lit Ephemeris, standing on the eirie’s highest balcony with Eccentricity at his wing. A lantern glowed in his hands, Eccentricity holding a second, and the twins spoke together as they had for many, many Celebrations past. “Now we light our lanterns,” they said as one, voices merging - individually they sounded nothing alike, but together it was an eerie reminder that such sibling-pairs came of one joined spark, and would eventually be one again. “Now we send out a welcome for those we have loved, a guide for those who make the longest journey of all.”

Now was Starscream’s turn, and he lifted his chin as the monitor split to show himself and Skyfire side-by-side. _As it should be._

“Our lights to warm the stars,” he intoned, flicking the ignition for the repulsor unit and pinging Skyfire to do the same, “Our sparks to ride the winds.”

Skyfire lifted his lantern when Starscream did, letting it float free of his hands and lift into the the star-bejewelled sky. The two of them spun idly around each other as they rose, and for a moment Starscream could let himself believe everything would be fine.

“Oh, look,” Skyfire breathed. Starscream glanced over - Skyfire was looking down. Starscream grinned.

“This is my favorite part,” he said. Below them, a glittering cloud slowly rose up toward them, and Starscream thrilled to hear Skyfire vent sharply beside him. In ones and twos, then in half-wings, then in a ridiculous uncountable profusion the lanterns rose past them, filling the air with their small, brave lights. Skyfire pressed his hands to his chestplate, the light in his optics reflecting the light of the lanterns.

“Thank you for this,” Skyfire said, and Starscream’s spark gave a hopeful little lurch. “If nothing else, thank you for this.”

“Skyfire,” Starscream began, but words failed him. _Stay. Stay and you can have this every orn and so much more besides. Stay and I’ll never hit another servant if it upsets you, I promise._

Even he knew how many promises like that were made to be broken. Far better to stand with his beloved and watch the lanterns rise.

*

The following oncycle was usually a quiet one in the eirie. The Celebration of Lights put even the most contentious of the family in a thoughtful mood, and the halls of the eirie were occupied only by scurrying servants who disappeared when they saw Starscream making his way to Skyfire’s guest wing. Very little happened on the cycle between the Celebration of Lights and the extended party afterwards, aside from whatever preparation went into the grand displays of fireworks, and Starscream intended to make use of the atmosphere of contemplation and the lack of familial interference.

Light, simple fare was generally the order of the day - even Gravitonne held to that, though Starscream at least suspected it was because he couldn’t be bothered to upend the status quo. Typical. Still, it was a comforting and familiar thing, and Starscream secretly welcomed it for that alone. They tray also gave him something to do with his hands, as well as cutting out the middlemech of any servants that Skyfire might be upset by.

“Skyfire?” he called, tapping at the door chime and heading inside as it rang. Skyfire wasn’t in the entry hall, or the interlinked entertaining rooms, or out on the main balcony that wrapped around his suite - panic rising in his spark, Starscream dropped the tray with a clatter on the nearest flat surface and rushed through the personal quarters from parlour to berthroom with barely a thought. “ _Skyfire?_ ”

A shift, and Starscream’s joints went just a little unstable with relief. Skyfire was standing out on the private balcony attached to the berthroom, leaning on a rail that was a shade too low for him.

 _I’ll have to have the balconies reworked to scale for him,_ Starscream thought briefly in relief. The smile he offered Skyfire, prompted by the warming thought, died swiftly as Skyfire turned to - survey him, almost, with a solemn expression that Starscream had never seen before. It made something cold and unpleasant turn over in his tank, a feeling he barely remembered that felt like smallness; like helplessness. He squashed it down _hard._

“We need to talk,” Skyfire said, and Starscream’s vents hiccupped.

“Of - of course,” he answered, trying to sound cheerful as he approached and hopped up to sit on the balcony. “What about?”

“I think you know.”

It was like nothing Starscream had ever known, this slow, inexorable slide into panic, like his repulsors were knocked offline and he was subject to the whim of gravity. “Is this about the hitting thing?” he asked in desperation. “Because I can - I can compromise on that. I won’t do it in front of you, how’s that?”

Skyfire’s optics went dark. “Oh, Starscream,” he murmured, and Starscream rocked on his perch in frustration at the heaviness in his voice.

“Look, I understand you’re not used to it, but it’s really not as big a deal as you’re making it out to be. I got the same thing when I was younger and I grew up fine. More than fine.”

“No you didn’t.” Skyfire turned to face him fully. “You grew up into someone who thinks hitting is an acceptable way to treat those with less power than you. And it’s not just the hitting,” he forged ahead determinedly when Starscream opened his mouth. “That’s only an expression of this - callous disregard for people who are who they are only through an accident of sparking. You are good to me, Starscream, you always have been, but - I want to have sparklings someday,” the shuttle blurted. “And I cannot, in good conscience, raise them in a society that would abuse them as you were abused, and as you now abuse others.”

Starscream’s processor ground to a halt, his mouth dropping open. What did- _how_ could Skyfire think- “ _Abuse?_ ” he spluttered, struggling to understand for one of the few times in his life. Skyfire was the most intelligent, most caring person Starscream had ever met; how could he possibly describe any of this as abuse? How could he not _see_ that this was what made Vos’ ruling family fit to lead?

“You don’t- you don’t understand,” he managed, grasping for words that only slipped faster through his fingers. “Maybe things are different in Altihex, but this is how things are _done_ here. It’s not like in Iacon, we wouldn’t sanction _abandoning someone in deep space_ just because they have wings-”

“No,” Skyfire said, the weight in his words pulling Starscream down. “But can you say the same if it was someone with wheels? If it was a servant, someone you didn’t personally care about?”

“That’s different-”

“No, Starscream it isn’t. And it can’t be. I’m not pretending to know what it was like, growing up here amongst all this-” Skyfire gestured vaguely, without even looking at the city spread out beneath him, but the thick, rising panic smothered Starscream’s anger at the casual dismissal of Vos, of all he’d worked so hard for. “But I - I can’t stay somewhere that treats people like they’re disposable. You may be heir now, Starscream, but what about everyone else? What about Parallax and her trine, or your cousins? What did Cassegrain do to deserve you cutting him off and belittling him like that? And more than that - didn’t you once tell me you had two siblings your own age, not just one? I’ve met Sunfire - _what happened to the other?_ ”

Something _shrieked_ in him, a roar of a Winglord’s fury and the cry of a hurting sparkling, _this can’t be happening-!_ He slammed into something hard and unyielding, and Skyfire’s hands pinned his - he’d _charged_ his intended, and the shriek had been his own. He drifted in midair, horrified, as Skyfire held him.

“If you ever have nowhere else to go,” the shuttle told him, and the gentleness in his voice could have been _so soothing_ if his hands weren’t so cold, “come find me in Altihex. Don’t follow me otherwise. I need-” His voice faltered, just for a moment. “...I need a clean break.”

“Skyfire,” Starscream whispered. “How can you do this to me?”

“I can’t live here. You know that. Goodbye, Starscream.”

“You’re the only-”

 _“Goodbye,_ Starscream.”

“...only one I’ve ever trusted!”

Skyfire released his hands, his face painted faintly red from the brightness of Starscream’s optics. “That is terrible,” he said. “You never should have had to grow up like that. I’m sorry. But I can’t stay and I can’t heal the damage done to you. Or by you.”

He stepped over the balcony, leaving Starscream with nothing but that last, horrible expression of pity. He flew into the sky and disappeared just as the first of the fireworks displays began, filling the world with white and gold and blue and red and _red and red and red-_

*

Starscream came back to himself slowly, trembling from head to pede in exhaustion. His hands ached where his fingers had locked into fists, scrapes and dents marking up his arms and down his legs - he glanced around what had been Skyfire’s quarters and felt only a dull ache at the wreckage he’d left behind.

Skyfire was gone. No power in the universe could change his inten- could change the shuttle’s mind when he’d decided on something. He was gone and wasn’t coming back, and now no-one in the world would stand at Starscream’s side for love alone.

His vents choked and Starscream stumbled back to the balcony, staggering when furniture that had survived a hundred vorns of use cracked under his pedes, lurching forward as a shattered datapad crumpled and was crushed around his thruster. His hands locked onto the rail and he vented hard, the cool air doing nothing at all for the pounding of his helm and finding no balm for his spark. He had no idea how long he stood there in the half-darkness, hunched over the rail when the fireworks were long over, but eventually the soft slide of a door heralded his Head of Intelligence slipping into the room and halting there.

“He’s safely away, my lord,” Thundercracker reported quietly, and the neutral tone was somehow worse than any accusation.

Starscream’s shoulders hunched; he pressed both hands to his helm, but it did nothing to relieve the pressure and only reminded him that his face was still wet. “I am,” he muttered, “an _idiot.”_ He had assumed too much, relied too much on Skyfire being on his side - relied too much on things he couldn’t control to make him _happy._

Thundercracker briefly dismissed in his mind - dismissed but not forgotten, no matter what Skyfire thought he could never show weakness to an inferior, he was _still the Heir_ \- Starscream pressed his fingertips to his forehead and let out a low noise that might have been a laugh, once. “What am I doing thinking of such things anyway?” he asked the sky. Until he had left Vos he had never needed anyone else to make him feel complete - for all he had learned at the Academies, such open, obvious weaknesses that he hadn’t even _seen_ couldn’t happen again. “I am the Heir to the Winglord! When it comes time to make an heir of my own, I can hire a surrogate for the purpose.”

Far better that way. The traditions of the Winglords were sound - he never should have let anyone use his spark. Better by far to be the one who used and discarded, to protect himself and what was his with the ferocity of a Winglord - and wasn’t he the Winglord, in all but name? All it would take was time. “...Until then I have far too much to do to secure my power - and Vos’s.”

He straightened as he spoke, taking one last look out over Vos and steadfastly refusing to glance in the direction Skyfire had gone. _So be it. I will go on alone, and be the stronger for it. I suppose I should thank you for the lesson, Skyfire._ He walked back into the room, his steps surer now and heedless of the destruction he’d created, and Thundercracker fell into step behind him. At his wing, at his command. As it should be.

“Summon Sunfire,” he ordered. “Tell him to meet me in the War Room.”

“Yes, my lord.”

_Time to tie up some loose ends._


	12. Canon-typical violence!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jazz is treated to some reminiscing and comfortable domesticity, Nightlight gets some horrifying news from the Praxian Elders, and Starscream loses everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, here we go. Swinging into the last couple of chapters, herein we have some canon-typical violence and off-screen OC deaths. It all goes tumbling headlong from here, people...

“Jazz?”

Their visitor turned from the window, visor glowing a soft, friendly blue in the dim light. “Heya, eight-bit. Whatcha doin’ up so late?”

Dash checked his chronometer. “I think it’s more like _early_ than _late.”_

Jazz winced visibly. Since his encounter with the sparkeater his calibrations had been a little bit off, and that plus the nightmares wreaked havoc with his recharge time. _It’ll settle out soon, sweetest,_ Dash’s Carrier had assured him, _and he’ll be just fine. Until then we need to be gentle with him._

Dash liked _gentle._ He liked the idea that he could comfort Jazz, someone he liked and admired in turn. He trotted forward and offered his hand for Jazz to take.

“Do you want to play?” he asked. “I can get out my light board.”

Chuckling, Jazz squeezed his hand. “You know I like playin’ with ya, but shouldn’t you be in the berth for a bit longer? Wouldn’t want your Carrier gettin’ after me for keeping you up.”

“I can’t sleep either,” Dash told him with a grin. “Don’t worry, I’ll tell Carrier it was my idea.”

Jazz laughed, squeezing Dash’s hand again, and Dash’s spark warmed. “Why do I get the feelin’ this is the beginning’ of a beautiful friendship? Okay, Dashbit, lead on.”

They played through Gems and Settings after Dash explained the rules, then Jazz taught Dash how to play a simplified version of a game he called Hax. Dash was still concentrating fiercely on his game pieces when Carrier came in and shooed both him and Jazz away from the board for some fuel, their family drifting in and out or sitting down with them depending on who was working through the opening shift and who could stay home. All of them paused for a moment to talk to Jazz, either just a hello or exclaiming happily over the mention of Hax - Fly-by-Night looked intrigued and offered to play Jazz so Dash and Haze could watch, and Shimmersea, catching the tail end of the offer as she came in with the twins, instantly asked to play the winner. It was a normal enough beginning to the cycle for Dash’s family, but he didn’t miss how Jazz slowly started to relax all over again. He’d chattered and smiled as much as ever, but the hint of tension in Jazz’s frame faded away as the full-frame Vosians smiled right back.

Dash quietly promised himself that he’d make sure Jazz had plenty of nice company around to help him feel steady again.

*

“So, how did y’all meet?”

Jazz had meant it to be a harmless question, something to get conversation going over a round of gelled fuel, but there was a flicker of glances over the table that said the answer was more complicated - or perhaps more fraught - than he’d realized. “Most of us are artists or artisans, you know,” Resonance smiled, optics steady on Jazz. “We were all connected to varying degrees through our work or through trining.”

“But Nightlight’s the one who kind of - pulled us together, I guess,” Bubblebomb put in, then glanced nervously at Shimmersea as if silently asking how much to reveal. Perhaps she really was asking over comms, because after a moment she added, “Night’s family wasn’t very supportive about him having Dash. So his trine introduced him to some of us so he’d have someone to talk to about sparkling-stuff, and it all snowballed from there.” 

She shrugged at Jazz’s sympathetic noise, and fluttered her hands as Lifter grinned over eir little one’s helm. 

“And the rest of us filtered in looking for the same kinda support.” 

Lifter’s sparkling Boo peered over the table, grabbing for a wobbly brick of fuel while Lifter was seemingly distracted. “Nuh-uh, bit, not that one, it’s not good for tinies. Try this one instead.” Ei expertly distracted the little one in turn with a treat; Jazz couldn’t picture the big mech - eir build a strange combination of hauler and flier frametypes - needing support, but he’d never raised a sparkling himself. For a Sigma spark like himself and his brother, the idea of having sole responsibility for a tiny, helpless newspark was nothing short of terrifying.

“So… y’all sorta formed a carriers-and-sparklings club,” he concluded, and Lifter laughed in delight, making eir little one squeal and kick her tiny pedes.

“That’s pretty much exactly what we called it,” ei grinned, gently crumbling little bits of the sparkling-friendly treat into Boo’s mouth. “‘Song an’ ‘Dance introduced Night to the music crowd, ‘n I think he met Radiant an’ then Resonance through - Masque, ‘m I right?”

The black and white Vosian glanced up on hearing her name and gave Jazz a smile, scarlet optics distracted as she thought. “Hmm? Oh - yes, I think so. We certainly all wound up going to a flyby together, and Night sort of became a fixture after that. We used to bump into him now and again downspire when I was carrying our three terrors.”

“And then he brought Shimmer and Fly-by-Night over to the tower one after the other, and we all thought it wouldn’t work - no offence intended, darlings.”

“None taken,” Fly-by murmured to Radiant, voice mild and his attention seeming mostly on Haze’s attempts at scooping up some of the more potent goodie mixes. Jazz’s attention perked, of course, but Shimmersea perching at the long counter-table was far more interesting in her glistening purple-gold paint than the quiet mech in the corner.

“Thank the spires it did work,” Shimmersea was saying. “I never had so much _fun_ as I did when we were living in that tower, aside from living here of course, and now these _grubby down-spire mechs_ -” she said the words in a mocking tone, flipping a hand derisively; Lifter snorted into Boo’s helm and Bubblebomb waggled her flaps with a grin - “are my best friends.”

“Aww, we love you too, Shimmer.” Bubblebomb leaned back to grin as the doorway to the dispensary room opened again. “Hey, Night, we’re talking about the old days,” she greeted cheerily, as Nightlight trotted in carrying a tray of grownup-sized cubes of fuel.

“Are you?” Nightlight’s optics flickered straight to Jazz, then back again, and this time Jazz was sure he sensed a flurry of comm conversation. “Surely you’re not telling Jazz anything too embarrassing,” he said at last, favoring Jazz with a warm smile. Behind him Dash, carrying a tray of misshapen goodies, lifted right off his pedes in interest.

 _Flying bitlets._ Jazz might never get used to that.

“Stories! Can we hear too?”

“They didn’t say anything really good yet,” Haze said dismissively, giving up on trying to nibble the treats Fly-by kept moving just out of casual grabbing range in favour of looking coaxingly up at hir carrier. “Tell something interesting?” 

Nightlight made a faint sound like he just swallowed his own thruster, moving over to the counter and setting down the cubes. “Dashbit, goodies on the worktop, please. ...well, what would be interesting, Haze? I’m sure we can think of something.”

“I’m with the eight-bit,” Jazz grinned. “Totally up for storytime!”

The full-frame Vosians reached for cubes and re-settled their little ones and hummed thoughtfully, and the flicker of comm traffic increased even as they praised Dash’s little squashy offerings.

“Well,” Bubblebomb said lightly, attention seemingly all on one of Dash’ goodies between her fingertips, in a tone that made Jazz’s visor brighten. “There’s always that story about the time Fireflash and Rocket first met up and decided it’d be _great_ to race Rocket against Fire’s pyros~”

“...oh mah Primus,” Jazz managed, and both Fireflash and Bubblebomb burst into giggles.

“It’s not as bad as it sounds, I swear!” Fireflash hooted, arms wrapped around eir middle and one pede swinging out to compensate. “That was before Rocket had the bits to look after - oh, you haven’t met Rocket yet! She’s out still, she’s trying to settle some stuff on a project she’s going to do. She’s a performance artist, but the Praxian artists are more - well - they’re not as three-dimensional aerial as we are, so it’s tricky. She’s having fun, though! They keep asking her to do all _kinds_ of stuff, I think someone wanted her to try corkscrewing and dropping paint flakes at the same time and she had to explain why that was a baaaad idea.”

“Didn’t that end up with them making a really pretty hardlight sculpture instead, though?” ‘Dance asked, wandering in from the dispenser room with Thundersong at his heels. “Hi guys!”

“Hey, ‘Dance!” Jazz chirped, and Skydance beamed - the two of them had become kindred sparks almost as soon as Nightlight had brought Jazz home to recover. “You got any interesting stories about this tower of theirs?”

“Welll…” ‘Dance tilted his head, a little more theatrically than Shimmersea had. “There’s always the one about the Winglord’s creation day party and the flying cargo trailer.”

The room groaned, aside from the little ones, who looked mystified. “I don’t remember that,” Dash declared.

“ ‘Course you don’t, bit, you were only tiny.” ‘Dance held his palms apart, showing just how tiny he’d been. “The Winglord’s creation day is this big thing in Vos,” he explained further to Jazz. “Basically everyone has to throw him and his twin a party, work grinds to a halt, air traffic is a _mess._ Anyway, us Tower dwellers decided to make a big float to honor the Highest Twins-”

“Because then it could be _done_ and we could forget about it,” Bubblebomb put in with more acid in her voice than Jazz had yet heard from her.

“-but the only thing we could get our hands on was this huge, ugly old cargo floater.” Skydance made a box in the air with his hands. “So we raided all our art supplies and went hell for titanium on it-”

Giggles rippled around the room. “Oh, heavens, wasn’t it tacky,” Shimmersea chortled. “And it rained glitter.”

“It was the ugliest thing you’ve ever seen in your functioning, serious,” Skydance told Jazz, too solemnly for Jazz to take him seriously. “And - and when a representative from the Highest Family came by-”

“He said it was a _fine and fitting tribute to the Winglord!”_ Radiant whooped, and the fullframes dissolved into laughter. Dash giggled until his vents squeaked, latching onto his carrier’s middle and dangling from Night’s hips - Night stroked Dash’s helm and smiled with the others, but he couldn’t quite find it in his spark to laugh. He remembered the Winglord’s creation day float only dimly, through a haze of exhaustion and emotional tailspin.

_Dash was so tiny still, and I had gone from carrying-exile to being barred from the eirie permanently unless they called for me. Thank Solus the others moved in when I offered, or who knows what I would have failed to produce for the representative._

His optics fell on ‘Song and ‘Dance, laughing together as Skydance leaned back against Thundersong’s frame with an easy assurance that the other mech would support his weight. Night’s smile turned to something soft and fond, and he hugged Dash close. _He’s getting so tall now. He’s barely really a sparkling anymore._

“I’m so glad you’re all my family,” he murmured, just as their laughter faded enough for him to be heard. Bubblebomb melted instantly, and every flight-capable sparkling in the room swarmed to glomp onto Dash and tackle Night from helm to pedes. “Oh my- Bits, I love you all, but please be careful!” he laughed, and promptly set about snuggling every single one of them. Boo squealed and giggled at the noise, clapping her tiny hands, and Tempo’s even younger bits let out chiming little peeps from where eir trine were trying not to flop all over the floor laughing.

“Better face it, Night,” Merriweather chuckled. “You’re doomed to be a lilbit perch.”

“Oh no, however will I cope,” Night sighed back, and shared an equally glowing smile with his Dashbit.

“‘Cause you’re best Carrier and better’n any Winglord ever,” Dash proclaimed, and of course Jazz chose then to start applauding.

“Hear hear,” he declared, grinning, and the little ones took that as encouragement to redouble their efforts to snuggle the life out of Nightlight. Night made squeaky noises and flapped his hands, laughing; Jazz laughed too, delighted, and as that was their goal in the first place, the little horde had mercy on their victim and released him to go get some more goodies or wander off to play. Nightlight was left flopped on the floor, giggling, with only Dash left curled up in his lap.

“I love my family,” he declared, and Dash wriggled in happiness in his lap as Night stroked his helm. “They’re terribly flattersome, of course, but I love them.”

“Nonsense, we never flatter,” Shimmersea scoffed. “Come on, little ones, it’s time for lessons. Dawn? Dusk?”

The named twins glanced at their carrier with uncharacteristic nervousness, then back to each other. “Carrier…” one of them hedged.

“That’s not our names,” the other blurted, and Nightlight’s hand flew to his mouth.

Jazz glanced around, mystified, as Shimmersea stood, moving to her twins to kneel in front of them and take their hands. “Will you - let me hear your names, dear ones?” she asked with a smile that wobbled only just a little.

The twins glanced at each other again. “Dovetail,” said one.

“Featherfall,” added the other.

“Dovetail and Featherfall. Those are beautiful names.” Shimmersea squidged them both close. “Thank you for telling me. I’m so proud of you, and I love you.”

As the twins clung to their carrier, Jazz leaned over to address Lifter. “This a sparkling thing?” he muttered quietly, his gaze flicking around the room as the fullframe Vosians collectively melted.

“When they figure out their true names?” Lifter kept watching the twins, fingers stroking over Boo’s helm pensively. “It’s a big deal. It means they’re starting to become who they’ll be as fullframes. The names we give them are just conveniences, until _they_ tell _us_ who they are.”

“Huh.” Jazz had onlined knowing who he was; this moment of self-discovery was alien to him. Alien, and fascinating. “Well, how ‘bout that.”

Nightlight’s optics were bright as he watched the little ones hold onto Shimmersea, as he watched Shimmer cling close in return. He snuggled Dash a little tighter in his lap, and didn’t miss how Dash’s fingers curled around the edges of his plating.

“Carrier?” Dash murmured, his cheek pressed against Night’s canopy. “When am I gonna know my name?”

“I can’t tell you that, sweetest,” Night replied softly, stroking his sparkling’s crest. “The only person who will know your name is you, and you’re the only one who can tell us what it is, when you’re ready.”

Dash pouted. “That’s no help, carrier.” ...Night couldn’t help chuckling at his dissatisfied little face, hugging him close.

“That’s the truth, sweetest-bit. ...I don’t think you’ll be waiting too long, now. You’re not all that little anymore.”

That seemed to mollify Dash somewhat, though his disgruntled look morphed into something more thoughtful as he considered things. After a moment, as Night sighed inwardly at how _his little bit_ only just fit in his lap now and Jazz sat watching Shimmersea’s not-so-little family cuddle, Dash spoke up again with a new hesitance in his voice.

“I’m still gonna be your lillun, though - right?”

Nightlight’s optics softened, and his arms closed around Dash to snuggle him up close. “Always, my sweetspark. Always and forever, no matter how big you get or how old you are. Just like Terra and Moonburst and Sunspot, remember? They’re still Catena and Caldera’s lilluns, aren’t they?” Dash nodded, his face brightening like a clear sky, and Night gave him a smile. “There, then. You’re always my dearest bit and I love you so much - more than anything else in the world.”

Dash threw his arms around Nightlight’s shoulders, burying his face in Night’s neck. “Love you too, Carrier,” he whispered, and neither of them let go for a while.

*

The Praxian government kept its audials to the ground. Its agents were planted in every city - or, as in the case of Vos, as nearby as possible if it was too difficult or dangerous to actually infiltrate. The upheavals in Kaon and Iacon had been watched from beginning to end. Now, it seemed, it was Vos’s turn, as the Intelligence Department’s comm center suddenly flooded with messages from the agents assigned to Vos’s outskirts.

 _Some kind of shakeup. Citizens fleeing,_ read the first message. Then, _They’ve barred the gates and blocked the bridges._ Later, _Conflicting reports from the Highest Tower, but it’s sounding like someone attempted a coup._

Later, _Confirmed - the Winglord is dead, and the Heir has fled Vos. The city is on the brink of civil war._

The report was copied and sent out: one copy to the Intelligence Director and one to the Temple Elders. The Temple’s comms mech took one look at the missive and ran for Elder Blackcoat.

*

The news hit on what was supposed to be a day off from learning, Night’s small school resting for the day and the wider Little Vos family dispersing to do as they pleased; Nightlight was poking about in the dispensary while Jazz entertained Dash, Safeguard having taken an unprecedented day off eirself; Night quietly suspected that Fly-by-Night inviting eir out along with Shimmersea had something to do with it, and was humming happily to himself picking out a packed lunch when his comm pinged.

Perhaps foolishly, he was only faintly surprised at recognising Elder Blackcoat’s comm signal, and picked up without any real misgivings. //Hello, Elder - is everything all right?//

//I’m sorry, Nightlight, but I have bad news for you.// The Elder’s normally steady voice was grim and brisk, and Nightlight’s spark lurched in his chest. //I’m going to be blunt - we have received reports from Vos that the Winglord has been killed in what we believe to be an attempted coup. Starscream was last spotted fleeing the city, and Vos is descending into civil war.//

Nightlight’s knees gave way. He slid gracelessly down against the cabinets to crumple on the floor, one hand clamped over his mouth; his processor span up into frantic, aimless panic. //How,// he managed, almost pleading for the Elder to make the words make sense. // _How?_ //

//I’m sorry, dearspark. That’s all we know, and I don’t wish to be alarmist, but I think you and your little one and trine may be safest in the Temple right now.//

 _Oh Solus and all the spires,_ Dash. //You- you’re right, if any of them think dragging us back will help them- I don’t know how it _could._ // But he’d sooner make himself look a cowardly fool one more time to keep his family safe.

//Do you need me to contact anyone?//

Nightlight dragged a shaking hand down his face, trying to force his processor into action instead of locking up. //...Fly-by-Night,// he said after a moment, //and Safeguard. They’re out - they’re out with Shimmer and the bits, they might be able to help. I need to comm ‘Song and ‘Dance...//

//Of course.// Mercifully the Elder didn’t tell him not to worry; maybe she already knew it was a lost cause and was trying not to pile any extra stress onto his shoulders. The last thing the priests needed right now was an unco-operative Vosian having hysterics. //Pack up what you need right away and head for the Temple; I’m pinging you the location of a side door and I’ll arrange for an enforcer to meet you there.//

//Thank you,// Nightlight managed, and patted above his head to try and find the edge of the work surface and pull himself back upright. His legs had turned to jellied goodies and he didn’t dare try lighting up his antigravs right now.

//Not at all, dearspark. This is the least we can do for you and your family both.//

*

Nightlight’s nerves were a jangling mess by the time they arrived at the Temple again. The appearance of Jazz’s psychopomp - _visible_ now, although no one would mistake the uncannily glowing being for a normal Cybertronian - was a shock he just didn’t have the time or wherewithal to absorb while he was still trying to hustle his family to safety and quiet the panic in his spark. _The Highest Family must be in chaos by now. Who’s going to seize control - whose tyranny will Vos endure now? And where has my idiot brother gone off to?_

Surely someone would have told him if Starscream had fled towards Praxus. Surely.

Dash kindly let Nightlight cling to him, even as the rest of his family curled up around him and Thundersong and Skydance returned to join the cuddlepile. None of them would be getting much recharge tonight, but at least they were still together.

“At least we get bigger rooms now,” Dash said practically, and Night clamped down on his laughter before it could turn hysterical.

“That’s a very good point, bit,” he wurbled, and Dash gave him a bit of a Look. He said nothing, though, just snuggled against Nightlight’s canopy and stretched his legs out to poke Haze with the tips of his pedes. 

“Did anybody bring any goodies?” he asked. “I brought my light board.”

Haze lit up, and the other sparklings - younglings, now, some of them - shuffled around into those-wanting-to-play and those interested enough to watch. Nightlight curled on his side, his wings carefully tucked back so that ‘Dance could sprawl over his hip, and ‘Song settled between his trinemates’ respective sets of pedes with an air of dignified amusement. It lasted about as long as it took ‘Dance to twist and wrap around his bondmate’s middle, but he tried.

Nightlight soaked in the scared-but-determined fields surrounding him, and tried not to think.

*

_Before_

“Starscream.”

Only two beings on the planet had the right to use his name like that, without titles or even all that much respect. Starscream turned, wings flattening back. “High Lord Eccentricity. To what do I owe the honor?”

Eccentricity rarely left his Brother Oversoaring’s shadow, and never on mere social calls. Starscream took in Eccentricity’s narrow expression and read disapproval there. “Throne room,” the High Lord told him, already turning, clearly expecting him to follow. “Winglord wants a word.”

“Regarding?” But Eccentricity was already lifting off, as if seven words were all he cared to spend on Starscream, and Starscream was sufficiently worried by the summons to let the insult pass. Had the Winglord uncovered some new threat to Vos? What else could account for such an abrupt meeting?

He was in the throne room before he realized he’d erred: everyone else was draped in their wraps of office, but Starscream’s wings were bare, having discarded the wrap in order to work unimpeded. Well, there was nothing for it but to wait it out - he rose up, returning the sneers of his lesser family members with cold glares of his own, until the top of his helm was level with the optics of the Winglord. “Winglord Oversoaring,” he greeted, making his bow. “Has something happened?”

The Winglord leaned forward in his seat, gold wrap of office drifting down over his shoulder. “My heir. What’s this I hear about you preparing the military for an excursion?”

Ah. So that was it. “The preparations are as yet incomplete, Winglord, but the Academy is mobilising. I have every confidence that the graduates will serve Vos to the best of their - assorted abilities.” Might as well make a point that he had single-handedly conscripted the best and widest range of Sigma gifts in Vos - save for those small few who had escaped, and that would shortly no longer be a problem. 

Only the Winglord hadn’t so much as moved, much less responded to his claims, and a faint trickle of unease began to seep into Starscream’s tanks. “The Academy is mobilising,” Ephemeris repeated, and his tone alone set static crawling along Starscream’s plating. “You make plans for a military operation, using the Academy I granted you leave to create and the guards I allocated to you, and you tell me this only after having been summoned to my presence?”

Starscream gaped, before realising his mistake and drawing himself up again. No-one in the eirie had patience for whining and excuses, much less the Winglord. “Naturally, when all was in readiness I would have announced-”

_“You forget your place.”_

His mouth snapped shut, a reaction trained into every single eirie sparkling from the moment they unfurled. The whispering and snickering of his cousins cut out, even the older High Graces looking wary - Starscream caught a brief flicker of Corona’s grave optics, Prominence’s sneering smile, before Ephemeris spoke again.

“I have been patient, Starscream. I gave you your head, allowed you the freedom to explore your responsibilities as Heir. I have been more than lenient with your bringing that shuttle here and creating such a scene-”

White noise crackled in Starscream’s audials, the icy creep of childish uncertainty whirled away as nauseous fire swept his spark.

“-and you repay the honour I bestow on you by running off like an underclocked fool to embroil us in a war of your own making?”

“Not a war,” Starscream managed through stiff lips. Ephemeris scoffed at him, disdain twisting his thin mouth, and Eccentricity leaned forward with a hint of rare interest glinting in flat red optics. “A punitive measure. Iacon and Praxus have allied with Kaon against us-”

“And so you believe the best remedy is to attack when you seem to think is the weakest link?” Ephemeris shook his head, slow and mocking, and Starscream’s hands slowly curled into fists. “You, youngling.” Ephemeris’ hand lifted, and Parallax’s optics widened in mingled alarm and panic when he pointed at her. “A small neutral city-state has allied with one larger, richer state, and one with high manufacturing capability. Which is the most dangerous?”

Parallax’s vocaliser onlined with a hint of a squeak, but her answer was not slow in coming. “The smaller state,” she said, not confidently but firmly enough. “If one has the credits and the other the materials, the smaller city-state must have the processing power.”

“Adequate.” Ephemeris turned away from her, seeming to forget her entirely, and Parallax casually hid trembling hands under her wrap as Nebula leaned comfortingly against her shoulder.

Starscream stared at her a moment, his gaze promising fire and ash, but he couldn’t take his attention off the Winglord too long. “There is another matter,” he said desperately. “I have recently discovered that Praxus is harboring a traitor. Nightlight is-”

“-Is immaterial to this conversation,” Ephemeris interrupted, and Starscream’s jaw dropped. “If this were about Nightlight, you would have sent envoys. Instead you propose to send an army.”

“Praxus must be made to fear our might-”

 _“I do not give you leave to speak!”_ Ephemeris snapped. “This nonsense has gone on long enough. You will stand down this army, Starscream, and next time do not even _think_ of mobilizing without my express order. I am still Winglord Oversoaring - it’s time you remembered that.”

Hot air exploded from Starscream’s vents, a backfire that echoed around the hall. Snickers and mutters filled the edges of his awareness, and none of it mattered but the elderly Vosian on the throne and his shadow standing behind him. Strange - he surrounded himself with so much power, so much self-assurance that you forgot how brittle he was at his advanced age, how frail. He didn’t even have weapons mounts.

Starscream had been outfitted with weapons for _vorns._ One didn’t become a deep-space Seeker without them, and the training to use them. His null rays were of his own invention, built to his own frame specs, and he’d upgraded himself with more weapons over time. _I could lay waste to every single mechanism in this room,_ he thought, and marveled that it had never really occurred to him before. _What’s been standing in my way?_

The answer was so unbearably clear, sweeping through Starscream’s processor like fire. This frail, elderly flier - Starscream’s last obstacle. 

_Obstacles are for removing, Winglord. You taught me that._

Ephemeris was still talking, something about Kaon and the inflow of energon from their strange new source, but Starscream couldn’t seem to make out the words. What he _could_ hear was the creak and sigh of old systems, close enough to really see how Eccentricity leaned on Ephemeris’ throne for support rather than as the gesture of solidarity it had always seemed to be. It felt like analysis in the labs, this strange detachment as his spark caught light - logical, obvious. Utterly unemotional.

Then Ephemeris’ words snapped back into focus.

“It seems I was wrong,” the Winglord sighed, and Starscream absently catalogued the crackle underscoring the old mech’s words. What had he ever been afraid of? This brittle, crumbling frame? What could Ephemeris do to him now?

“Grace Starscream of the Turbulent Heights, let it be made public that I strip you of heirship. Perhaps, when you gain a little maturity, you will be considered a candidate once again. Dismissed.”

Starscream froze in place, oblivious to the gasps and whispered exclamations whipping through the hall, the snickering and gloating looks. Fire swept through him, the inferno in his spark setting his processor alight, and Eccentricity’s sly gaze caught the change first. The Highest Lord’s optics widened slightly from amusement to alarm, his hand tightening on Ephemeris’ shoulder, and the Winglord gave his once-heir a sharp look. “I said _dismissed,_ ” he snapped, but Starscream was past listening.

He raised his arms and fired.


	13. Canon-typical violence!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are flashbacks, fights and finangling, and Vos finally comes under new management.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some canon-typical violence in this chapter, a mention of characters on life support, and oblique notice of OC deaths.

_Beep._

_Beep._

_Beep._

The soft, regular sounds of the medical equipment were designed to be unobtrusive until and unless something went badly wrong. That did nothing to reassure anyone but the medics, and they were working around the clock just to keep the Winglord and his twin stable. Neither one had regained consciousness since the disastrous intervention with Starscream, and none of the medical staff thought it wise to even try bringing them out of stasis, no matter how shrilly Prominence badgered them.

 _Starscream’s abnormal stillness, seeming not to hear a word that was spoken until Ephemeris’ pronouncement and the Highest Family’s reactions - Parallax elbowing Radial and hissing “I_ told _you so!”, Corona leaning back on eir recliner with a faint air of satisfaction, the glint of Cassegrain’s reticule as he smirked-_

_-the sudden jerk of movement, Starscream’s arms swinging up and the shrieking burst of laserfire, Ephemeris crashing back against the high seat and Eccentricity letting out a thin, tearing scream-_

Now the twins lay still and silent on the berths, pushed close together in the hope that the resonance between their sparks would help to keep them both stable. It was a vain hope, the head medic had murmured to their colleague, both thanks to the Highest Twins’ sheer age and the amount of damage. Neither mech had been a Seeker or a warrior, even in their prime, and the shots had torn through their plating like tinfoil. What hadn’t been destroyed outright had been shut down by Starscream’s null rays, and that much damage would only lead to eventual system crashes and spark failure - if they didn’t simply fade away from the shock first.

The twins lay in silence, and aside from Corona’s messengers checking in with the medical team, none of their family came to see them more than once.

No one knew where Starscream had fled to, or why he’d fled in the first place. The idea that he might have suffered some pangs of conscience for what he’d done didn’t occur to anyone. But beyond Sunfire ordering increased patrols at the edges of Vosian airspace, Starscream was not spared a second thought. There was a power vacuum to fill.

Sunfire was first to make a move - emboldened by the support of the War Academy that knew _him,_ not Starscream, as their commander, he staked his claim by moving the Academy offices from Onyx to Highcrest. Prominence, to the spire’s mild surprise, objected, leveraging his own private security force to harass the Academy forces in the cycles following the Highest Twins’ fall. While the citizens hid behind their doors, the harassment bloomed into skirmishes that threatened to spread into the other spires.

The sounds of weapons fire reached upspire, into the living quarters of Corona. For a while ei remained unmoving, optics dim, cube held still and steady in eir hands. Eir steward hovered uncertainly in the corner as ei thought.

Another high-pitched rattle of laserfire reached them. Corona sighed slowly. “This,” ei said, “will not do.”

Setting the cube aside with a sharp, decisive _click,_ Corona uncurled from eir comfortable lounger and crossed to the comm set. “Mirrormire, I will be making calls. Kindly see that I am not disturbed, within the usual parameters.”

Eir steward bowed and jetted silently back to the door, holding onto his poise with both hands. “Yes, Grace. Will that be all?”

“For now, Mirrormire. You are dismissed.”

Once the mech had left, the door sliding smoothly shut behind him, Corona tapped eir forefingers lightly against eir lip, tracking the sounds of laserfire far below. The latest skirmish was closer to the eirie than ever - Sunfire was making something of his show of force, true, but he was young and more driven to fighting against his siblings and cousins through a lifetime of the same, rather than fighting solely to claim the title and responsibility of a Winglord. Hardly a true candidate for the high seat. By contrast, Prominence had been throwing petty tantrums since he had unfurled, ordinarily to no real effect. Now, however, both of them were rapidly moving out of petty rivalries and into what would have serious repercussions for Vos itself without the Winglord’s authority to shut their machinations down, and the city couldn’t move forward if it were riddled with pockmarks and greying frames. Oh, there were schemes and machinations aplenty working through the eirie, but no-one had stepped forward to claim the high seat outright.

Footfalls near-silent, ei crossed to the comm set and began to work. The threads Corona had cast across Vos over the vorns were ready to be woven. 

*

_“I said dismissed!”_

_Laserfire flaring, staccato screams as unimportant blurs of colour fall back, the shock and fury in Ephemeris’ gaze turning to blankness as Eccentricity wailed and collapsed against his twin’s side-_

_-turning and aiming at more of the shrieking blurs, targeting systems in overdrive-_

_-guards bursting into the room, mobbing him as though he were some common criminal and not their Winglord, he was, he_ WAS-

*

“This was a dumb idea,” Radial said, then let out a shriek as the roar of engines echoed around the room.

“Shhh!” his siblings hissed back, and three sets of hands clutched at each other in the half-light. The Exile’s Tower had been empty for practically forever, forgotten about since the cast-out Grace had vanished, and Parallax had called dibs on it in a panic as soon as Sunfire roused the Academy. With Starscream gone there was no-one to really throw a fit over her vanishing from their ranks, and her sibs hadn’t hesitated - much - over claiming the Tower as their own bit of Winglordship and hiding there. No-one had thought to shut off the energon dispensers and they had hauled all the goodies they could carry down there, along with Parallax’s decoration-paint brushes and Nebula’s keytar and a stash of datapads. Parallax had insisted it was staking their own territory and taking a stand for their own claim at the title, and Radial and Nebula dutifully agreed with her.

Neither of them were going to argue when Parallax shook like that.

*

_-forced back up towards the highest seat and still firing, wildly this time as the guards pressed him, a shrill voice howling for them to cut him down I HEAR YOU PROMINENCE-_

_-bursting through the patterned windows, shards of colour flying outwards as though in slow motion, the blue and white and redredred mocking him as they twist and start to fall-_

*

“Really, Prominence, it’s all so _noisy._ ”

“Oh, shut up,” Prominence snapped mid-stride, never pausing. “If we’re going to put a stop to that impudent brat’s arrogance, a little _noise_ is hardly the end of it!”

Gravitonne huffed, shifting on his lounger to pick through the array of treats for another purple cream. “I don’t see why you can’t just let him take charge and then get rid of him. It would be much less fuss.”

“Fuss?! Have you no idea of our own importance? We can’t simply let this all blow over and have a half-grown warrior install himself in the high seat, even if it's only for a cycle!”

“I don’t see why _you_ want to be in charge, either. It’s much easier making someone else do the hard work so we don’t have to.”

“And this is why you’ll never amount to anything,” Prominence rapped out, reaching the far wall of Gravitonne’s sitting room and spinning about to pace the other way. Gravitonne only shrugged and popped the candy into his mouth, sighing contentedly.

“Why would I want to? Whoever winds up in the Winglord’s seat, things can’t change _that_ much. They never have.”

Prominence snorted. “You never did have any imagination.”

*

 _It wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t. He had been_ provoked, _belittled and mocked in front of those he rightfully commanded - he was the heir! He was the heir by right, and Nightlight was a traitor and a danger to Vos, why couldn’t Ephemeris_ see _that?_

_Tumbling headlong out of the eirie, away from the noise and the screams and the blazing light and the guards, Starscream fled._

*

The pride of the Vosian War Academy stood tall, gunblades steady in his hands. “Very well,” he said, his proud voice ringing off the high ceiling - his murderous diva of a brother wasn’t the only one who could project a commanding presence when he so wished, and now all of Vos would know it! “Come at me, if you think you can keep up.”

His opponent did not answer, did not even smirk - just looked at him coolly. Then they _moved._

Sunfire was a warrior sparked, a Seeker since he was steady enough to hold a weapon. No one could say he lacked experience, or cunning, or courage. Not and expect to keep their lives, at least. But at the third clash Sunfire realized he had gravely miscalculated. _Seekers aren’t the only ones who can fight._

Twin blades flashed. Sunfire yelled in fury as he was disarmed - nearly _dishanded_ in the process - and the wicked point of one of those blades was aimed at his optic before he could recover.

“Have I made myself clear?” his opponent asked mildly, as though they hadn’t even had to work hard to beat him.

Sunfire raced his engine, torn between anger and admiration. “I yield,” he answered, and told himself that it was with more grace and intelligence than Starscream ever could have managed. “I will support your claim as my own.”

*

To no-one’s surprise, Prominence had sent out his and Gravitonne’s guard to harass the Academy forces while he himself stayed in the relative safety of the eirie. As the Vosians outside ran a gauntlet of grim-faced eirie guardsmechs and hyped-up Academy recruits on their first real deployment, dodging skirmishes and ambushes and the occasional full-blown firefight as tensions ran higher, Prominence divided his time between ranting in Gravitonne’s luxuriously appointed tower suite and haranguing the rest of the family. He insisted on a full compliment of guards wherever he went, sweeping through the halls of the eirie draped in a long formal wrap in his own colours; even the most loyal servants muttered uneasily that it was too much, far too much while the Highest Twins still functioned.

Prominence backhanded anyone he heard talking about the Winglord. Or anyone critiquing him, or anyone smaller than him who stepped in his path or met his optics. The youngest members of the family backpedalled when they saw him coming; the rest spent their time in the throne room, debating back and forth in cutting voices, casting covetous glances over the empty throne.

“Sunfire has spent more time out of the eirie than in it,” Prominence was saying, his reedy voice sharp with triumph. “He may be suitable for an officer rank, when he _matures_ , but an inexperienced youngling is no suitable candidate for the high seat! Just look at the _previous _heir. Can you imagine, Starscream as _Regent?_ We would be embroiled in wars with the other city-states within the cycle!”__

“Prominence,” Nova grated, “Given that you’ve neither given the highest family a trine of your own nor made yourself useful any other way, you can hardly call yourself a viable candidate either!” 

Prominence flared up instantly, leaping into the air over Nova’s seat with his optics flashing. “How dare you! You, when all you’ve ever done is implant some low-ranked Sparkbearer with two trines of useless brats-” 

“Which is more than you’ve ever done,” Nova snapped back, pushing up into the air and shouldering into Prominence’s airspace as the smaller flier instinctively shrank back. “Even Zenith’s collection of hideaway intellectuals and that chrome-plated moron Celestial is better than nothing, _Highest Whiner!”_

_“How dare you-!”_ Prominence’s shriek of fury rang through the throne room, overshadowing the voices of the other Graces - Zenith shouting indignantly, if only because _he_ was the only one he would allow to insult his collective offspring - and for a moment it looked as though a fight would break out. 

Then a door set into the shadow of the highest seat opened, and the head of the medics attending the Highest Twins jetted into the room. In the commotion ei went entirely unnoticed, and it was only when ei jetted up to the highest seat and shook out a length of steelsilk that glowed a dull, molten grey that the Highest Family fell silent, one argument at a time. 

The medic bowed eir head, draping the shroud over the highest seat. The Winglord was dead. 

Prominence waited only as long as it took to draw in a single, shocked breath before raising his voice again. “ _I claim the title of Wingord of Vos Oversoaring!_ ” 

The throne room descended into chaos. Nova let out a shout of fury and shot after Prominence, who fended her off only by the quick intervention of a phalanx of his guards almost teleporting in to form a shield wall around him; Ellipse grabbed onto Solar Flare’s arm and was urgently trying to persuade his sibling to make a claim with him against Eclipse and his trine; Gravitonne had jetted his lounger as far out of the way as possible, unprotected with Prominence having sent out all his guards, complaining loudly about the noise. 

A spray of laserfire burst over their heads, prompting startled shrieks from Nova’s youngest trine and sending them diving for cover one after the other behind their trineleader. Velocity hit the ground first with Parsec on top of eir and Kessel right behind; Nova whirled, snarling, then her optics opened wide. 

Sunfire hovered in the centre of the hall’s grand entryway, his gunblade still raised and smoking. As Prominence opened his mouth to lash him for firing his weapons in the throne room, and-or order his guards to open fire in return, Sunfire snapped to attention and bowed to the figure waiting behind and above him. 

“ _I_ claim the title of Wingord of Vos Oversoaring,” Corona said calmly, eir optics sparking and with twin swords held ready, “with the support of the First War Academy and my Second, Grace Sunfire of the Thundering Flames.” Eir optics slid from one shocked expression to the next, before finally alighting with a knowing look on Prominence’s gape-mouthed face. “Would you care to duel for the right, dear sib, or surrender your claim once and for all?” 

Prominence’s mouth worked soundlessly, helplessly, before grasping for the most immediate solution. “Gua-” 

“I _said,_ ” Corona snapped, _“duel._ Not make war right in the throne room. We have not yet lost all our graces, even in this time of crisis.” Even as ei spoke Sunfire flicked his hand and his Academy-trained guards flooded into the room, hemming in the entirety of the Highest Family in their own throne room. Floating in a truncated semicircle, they presented their weapons, and Prominence sputtered as his and Gravitonne’s guards immediately stood down. 

“Pick your weapons back up and defend me!” he demanded. “Or I’ll-!” His vocalizer stopped with a hiccup as the guards parted away from him, careful to float low before the approaching Corona. “You,” he hissed. “You little _razor snake._ Pretending contentment, plotting all the while! You’re no better than your murdering grandspark!” 

The very air blurred, and the tip of Corona’s sword was a wire’s breadth away from Prominence’s nasal projection. “May I take that as a yes to the duel, _trinesib dear?_ ” ei asked, steel and fire in eir voice that did not show one iota in eir face. 

Whispers rippled through the hall, the Highest Family transfixed by Corona’s display of perfect, effortless _power._ Prominence shrank back on his lounger and Corona followed him down, never letting him ease the pressure, the tip of eir blade a constant micron away from his nose. 

Prominence scowled. “I should have drowned you when we were younglings.” No answer aside from an upturned lip, and Prominence’s engine whined with the effort of swallowing down his considerable pride. “I withdraw,” he forced out, “my claim.” 

“Excellent.” The sword-tip retreated slightly, though Corona didn’t back up. “Now. Recall your guards; there are more important things for them to be doing than playing hide-and-seek. We have a lot of work to do, and most of it long overdue.” 

Prominence’s optics followed the whisper-sharp blade, and, for once, wisely did as he was told. 

“Work?” Corona turned slightly, amber wrap flaring out, and eir cool scarlet optics fell on Zenith - plating still bristling, but with enough sense to be cautious and keep his head below his grandsire’s. “What do you mean, work?” 

“Never worked a day in eir life,” Eclipse muttered, still nettled by his siblings shutting him out, and Nova promptly cuffed him around the helm even before Corona could give him a censorious Look. 

“I mean _work,_ youngling; the hard work that comes of a functioning city-state.” Corona lifted up and away from Prominence, turning eir back as soon as was prudent, and felt more than saw eir sibling’s seething resentment. Something would have to be done about Prominence, but perhaps not right now. Ei had a point to make. “While Kaon is helpfully refilling Cybertron’s shallower energon deposits for us, that won’t be enough to keep Vos running. The city needs merchants, supplies, _trade,_ and that will take work to reinstate. And, rather closer to home...” Eir optics raked across the gathered family, and no small few ducked just a little lower in the air at eir expression. “Has no-one realised that Cassegrain is missing?” 

“Probably dug himself a nice safe trench in his lab and hid there,” Kessel snorted, "talking to his boyfriend in Tarn." Nova hissed at him, and he shrank down a little though his optics were rebellious. 

“I think not,” Corona answered. “Cassegrain may be easily absorbed, but he’s no Lightspeed.” 

“Winglord…” Sunfire inclined his helm when Corona acknowledged him. “Cassegrain was reported to have left the spire. With your permission, I can pull his flight path and send a trine out to look for him.” 

“An excellent suggestion, Second. Do so, but instruct your mechs to cross no city boundaries.” Corona graced him with a faint half-smile and Sunfire bowed himself out of the room, some of the Academy forces filing out after him. “And, my family, allow me to take this opportunity to say that I welcome your input - all of you. If you have something to contribute, new information or a perspective you believe I have not considered, I sincerely wish you to speak, and you have my word I will take what you tell me under advisement. Speaking up may not always be rewarded, but it will never be punished.” 

“How benevolent,” Prominence muttered, not quite subvocally. 

Corona turned sharply, and Prominence shrank back again. “Of course,” ei said, pitching eir voice to address the whole of the room though eir optics remained sharp on Prominence's face. “I do expect said dissention to be presented with the respect due to me as your Highest.” 

Eir hand rested meaningfully on the handle of one of eir swords, and Prominence had to reset his vocaliser before he could speak. 

“Of course, Winglord,” he managed, and ei gave him a razor-sweet smile as reward. 

* 

_“Citizens of Vos, your Winglord Oversoaring speaks._

_It is my lasting sorrow to announce that Winglord Ephemeris, spark of Windsong spark of Cirrus, and Highest Lord Eccentricity, spark of Windsong spark of Cirrus, have left behind their impermanent frames and joined the Well of All Sparks. After once-Grace Starscream was found unworthy of being named heir, his craven attack on those who had bestowed that honour has branded him both outcast and traitor. Let the record show that he is no longer heir, nor welcome in Vos._

_I, High Grace Corona of the Amber Moon, spark of Ephemeris spark of Windsong, take up the mantle left by those who have gone before. Let it be known throughout Vos that we are stronger than those who seek to divide us, that cowardice and insularity shall never outshine Primus’ Crown - the winds of change are strong beneath us, and we shall rise.”_


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Vos' new power structure faces its first challenge, Orion asks a favour, Starscream sets his course and Dash finds his name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few warnings this time around - a brief canon-typical battle, nongraphic OC death, and a character's internal monologue including their hidden frametype dysphoria, wanting to escape their family but ultimately going back due to unforseen circumstances, and those unforseen circumstnces being shot down, crashing and needing repairs. (Guess which family is the one in question. Go on, guess.)

The Temple Elders reviewed the reports in silence, moving only to call up a cross-reference here and there. At length Blackcoat sat back. “Well,” she said. “Thus ends civil war in Vos.”

“And the beginning of a new era.” Elder Doublegear steepled his fingers. “For all Corona doesn’t seem to be particularly secretive, it’s worrying how little we know about eir. What sort of ruler will ei be? What will ei want?”

“Ei’s Nightlight’s grandsire,” Elder Crane pointed out. “Perhaps he will have some greater insight.”

Blackcoat shook her head. “I prefer,” she said, “to involve Nightlight as little as possible in this. He has already sacrificed enough to give us what information he has about his family. Besides - as I understand his stories on the subject, the sparkers of his family are relatively uninvolved with their progeny, leaving their care to servants.” Her tone left no doubt as to how little she approved. “I doubt being Corona’s grandspark will make Nightlight privy to any new insight that he hasn’t already offered us.”

“Then we are left with the old methods,” Doublegear sighed. “Spying and diplomacy. The Council of Elders will be drafting a letter of introduction to Corona; it will be interesting to see how ei responds.”

“If ei responds,” Crane muttered darkly, not wanting to be so quick to forget how close Vos came to making war thanks to Corona’s _other_ grandspark. Doublegear shook his head in response, tapping steepled fingers against his mouth.

“I rather think ei will have to. From what Shimmersea has told us, Vos’ own energon wells are running dry, and trade is low to non-existent. If Corona wants eir city to survive...”

“Ei will have to start reaching out,” Blackcoat concluded with a nod of her own. “True, but that greatly depends on eir pride and what eir own goals may be. Not everyone can see past their own wants.” She gave Crane a significant look; none of them would forget how close things still were to tipping back towards war. If nothing else, Ephemeris’ legacy would prove to be one where the other cities around Vos would work hard on diplomatic outreach, if only to avoid a repeat of the last vorns.

*

One pede in front of the other. Slow, limping progress, a haze of pain shading everything with the urgent red of damage reports, but progress nonetheless. One step. Another. 

Cassegrain hobbled towards what he could see of the inter-city highway, one optic cracked and his reticule fractured. His arm locked carefully around the broken glass and crumpled metal of his sides. He couldn’t reach his wings and didn’t quite dare to try and look - there was something badly wrong with his backstruts, and he wasn’t sure how he was still upright. Scientific enquiry could wait until he could be sure of getting back up again if he fell. If he fell-

He shuddered, stumbling sideways as his thruster-heel gave way and he thumped shoulder-first into an outcrop. _Don’t think of falling. Don’t think. Just walk._

Walking like a grounder. His pedes weren’t put together for this. He knees ached.

He could reformat as a grounder. He could keep heading towards Tarn and the connections he’d made there, he could have his own lab again, far away from his family. He could have a frame that _fit_ him, one none of them would recognise, one just like-

Pain shot through his ankles, mechanisms grinding together that were never meant to take his weight. Cassegrain moaned aloud and kept walking.

This was all Starscream’s fault. Starscream appearing out of nowhere after vanishing for a bare cycle, sending him tumbling nosecone over tailfins with those Solus-smelt-them null rays and screaming nonsense - Cassegrain couldn’t remember anymore if he’d screamed first, or if he’d crashed down in silence as the null rays stole the wind out from under his wings. It had been perfect, no-one had noticed as he’d slipped away from his labs, too involved in who was going to take over as Winglord - he’d aimed for Tarn unseen and unnoticed, he would be there by now and sharing energon and ideas with the greatest processors on Cybertron if it weren’t for Starscream-!

When he hit the ground, he’d blacked out on impact, and Starscream - Starscream had let him live. Or the once-heir had just blasted him out of his way and kept going without a second thought...or he’d gotten even more careless since he’d lost his mind and attacked the Winglord.

 _The Winglord._ He wondered if the Highest Twins were dead yet.

_Keep walking._

It occurred to Cassegrain, as he forced himself forward inch by painful inch, that Starscream may have left Cassegrain alive as a message. Warning, threat, an expression of contempt. _He fears me so little he doesn’t even need to kill me. He didn’t even notice, except for me being another obstacle in his flight path._ It seemed ludicrous. Even that dim bulb Nightlight had fled in the middle of the the night, and it took _ages_ for Intelligence to locate him again - and even then, with all his friends having escaped as well, the Highest Family was at a loss for a leash to yank the miswire back home again.

They’d find one, Cassegrain was sure. _He_ hadn’t been so sloppy. And he didn’t have any friends in Vos to yank him back. Everything he valued was in front of him - friends, correspondents, maybe more if the intense project notes he’d been sharing with his partner were any indication...

But every strut and plate in his legs had cracked in the fall, and he couldn’t walk to Tarn from Vos.

Shadows crossed his path; thruster engines roared overhead. Cassegrain stumbled in panic like a grounder as Seekers landed around him, sure Starscream had changed his mind about letting him live until one of them addressed him. “Your Grace?”

“What happened?” another blurted.

 _They’re from the eirie. They’ll take me back, or kill me, they’ll know I tried to run and I know what would have happened to Nightlight if he’d been caught-_ “Starscream happened,” Cassegrain muttered, squeezing his arms down tighter against the broken glass and metal of his middle, wincing visibly. _Starscream isn’t the only playactor in the spire._ The Seekers glanced at each other, visibly dismayed and at a loss, until their wingleader spoke up.

“Your Grace, with your permission - we have no medic in our squad, but we can brace your wings for the flight back to Vos.”

Cassegrain swayed on the spot, shaken down to the core all over again as he tried to think his options though without letting it show. Bad enough that he could barely walk, that Starscream shooting him down had shattered his frame - returning to Vos being _carried_ between three other fliers, even if they were Seekers, was one more humiliation than his reputation could bear. He squinted through the cracked glass of his reticule, then pain shot up his legs through his cracked thrusters and he stumbled - when the grinding agony faded enough for him to see again, he nodded wearily. The embarrassment of being carried home by three of Sunfire’s Academy drudges was a lesser thing compared to more of this, and he’d never make it to Tarn on broken wings. He _would_ get out. Tarn _would_ wait for him. His partner would wait. He would.

“You have my permission,” he said heavily, and stood quietly as they took careful hold of his arms and lifted away from the ground.

*

A full wing of Seekers kitted out for war descended on the Highest Tower, early in the on-cycle before anyone capable of doing anything about it could be expected to be awake. They screamed past the towers, shook the walls, rattled the windows - cluster bombs hit the eirie’s comms tower, melting it and the officer inside into uselessness.

Unfortunately for Starscream, Corona was an early riser, and Sunfire had a military flier’s talent for going from zero to supersonic at a moment’s notice. Even as Starscream arced around for his second pass, phalanx of warriors at his tailfins, the War Academy’s finest were boiling out of the nearby towers to answer his challenge with Corona exhorting them over short-range comms.

Starscream wasn’t known as the best flier in Vos for nothing - he spun on a wingtip, the war-Seekers he led wheeling about in eerie unison, and the whole wing aimed unerringly for the grand pavilion’s private landing strip and the wide windows there. Sunfire snapped into a turn that had his struts bending to keep up, metal screaming as his trinemates latched onto his flightpath, and as the War Academy rose up behind him he managed to blast a trio of Starscream’s followers into oblivion right on Starscream’s tailfins, his treacherous brother jinking away to avoid the comet of debris. 

The fliers died without a sound, the fireball of their frames igniting under Sunfire’s weapons fire; the scrambling Academy fighters lit up the sky, and Starscream’s tight formation began falling out of the air as he was forced away from his goal.

//Jump Squad, bounce to these co-ordinates - hit them hard! Rainmakers, take a pass overhead; skip-manoeuvre three with Fire Team! All trines harry them but keep your distance until I give the word!// Sunfire’s HUD lit up with pings of acknowledgement from his fliers’ trineleaders - _orders received and understood_ \- and threw himself forward to force Starscream far away from the open, vulnerable entryway into the eirie through sheer firepower.

//Where are the guards?// he roared over the comm, and to his frustration there was no reply.

//There’s no comm chatter between the hostiles,// his trinemate rapped out, Aimpoint’s scanners sharper than Sunfire’s own. //No blockers or scramblers but our comms tower is down, no confirmation to be had.//

//Slaggit-// Sunfire switched channels, rolling away as the Rainmaker team doused the pockmarked enemy wings with flammable fog and acid rain. //Wingleader to Eirie squadron, we need guards inside the pavilion entryway _now!_ // 

The Fire Team darted smoothly around his trine to light up the tightly-controlled plumes of firefog and Sunfire shunted aside comm strings of trineleaders berating anyone who got too close. //Jump Squad, relocate to the grand pavilion, do _not_ let Starscream pass you! All trines, Prism sweep; set your focus as the landing strip.//

To their credit, the disparate trines of the War Academy moved in almost perfect synchronicity, spiralling around falling wreckage and their utterly silent foes to rear like a rising crystal cobra around the eirie’s pavilion entrance. Starscream and his strange allies flew into the teeth of their fire, the wings of their formation shredding away one fighter at a time.

//Why aren’t they even trying to evade?// the Jump Trine leader blurted.

//Because Starscream’s gone wingnuts,// his left wingmate snarked. The enemy formations shot past one another and wheeled, each trying to catch the other’s thrusters or wings in their sights for even one fraction of a second.

//No unnecessary chatter,// Sunfire snapped, but inwardly he worried. His trine-brother may have lost his mind, but he’d never been careless or suicidal. Was this a trick? A step in some grander plan? Was he about to be humiliated by his cannier brother _yet again?_

_No!_

They were strafing again and Sunfire returned fire, hampered only by the desire not to hit the nearby towers. Starscream had no such worries, and stitched a black line of damage across a tower wall trying to clip Sunfire’s wings. His eerie allies were trailing smoke and sparks, one by one dropping away to be caught by the security forces waiting below. Or not - it wasn’t like they’d land on anything important. Sunfire dismissed the fallen from his processor and focused entirely on Starscream’s growing profile in his sensors.

A crackle-hiss, and a familiar laugh over his comm system. //And whose lapdog are you today, dear brother?//

Sunfire felt his trinemates’ formation tighten, felt the acknowledgement-pings from the Jump Trine and the Rainmakers. Starscream was down to four followers. //The Winglord’s, of course,// he answered, and fired with everything he had.

The shriek that answered him was torn from Starscream’s vocaliser, rage and pain tangled together as Sunfire lashed at his wings. // _I_ am the Winglord!// he howled, and whipped into a spiralling turn that sent one of his remaining followers spinning out of control as they tried to follow, haloed in weapons fire and the spray of energon and sparks. // _I_ was the Heir! Vos belongs to _me!_ //

The comm lines crackled, a priority band calculated not to interfere with Sunfire’s orders. //I, Winglord Corona of the Amber Moon, spark of Ephemeris spark of Windsong, declare once-Grace Starscream outcast and spark-traitor to Vos,// came Corona’s voice, sharp as cutting glass. //Drive out the infection, you Seekers faithful to Primus’ Crown!//

// _No!_ // Starscream wheeled again, blackened thrusters blazing like twin suns as he shot towards the pavilion in one great outburst of maddened fury. // _You can’t take this from me!_ //

//It was never yours to be taken,// Corona replied coolly, before switching frequencies in a sparkpulse. //Second, take him down!//

Another of Starscream’s followers struggled to follow their leader, thrusters sputtering and fuel lines breaking open as their engines broke down under the strain. Starscream didn’t notice, barrelling headlong towards the pavilion and the waiting, rising formation of War Academy Seekers-

-before cutting right so sharply that his remaining two followers went sailing through his contrails and straight into the teeth of the Vosian firelanes-

-and aiming for the open windows of the eirie tower proper, where Prominence was busily haranguing his guards and the Academy officer dragging them off to guard the pavilion entrance. Prominence barely had time to shriek before a cluster bomb blew him through the wall in a hail of greying shrapnel.

Sunfire’s HUD crystallised. //Jump Three!// he cried, wheeling hard and throwing himself faster faster _faster_ to block his slagging trinesib. //Emergency protocol - _ground him!_ //

//On it!// a breathless voice replied, and a cloud of purple smoke streamed into nothingness as a young recruit teleported straight onto Starscream’s back and _hauled_ on his wings.

Starscream’s shriek of affront rang off the spires of Vos. “How _dare_ you lay your hands on me! Get off me this instant!”

“I don’t have to listen to you,” Skywarp retorted, grinning - enjoying manhandling the former Heir’s flight path far too much for Sunfire’s sensibilities. “Didn’t you hear the Winglord?”

_“You little scrap-!”_

That was all Starscream managed to get out before he slammed into the wall, Skywarp teleporting away an instant before impact shattered glass and crumpled plating. Skywarp reappeared behind the Second’s trine, every line radiating smugness. //Good work,// Sunfire told him, because impropriety or not, the teleporter _had_ defeated an enemy of Vos. //You’ll be commended.//

//Thank you, sir!// Skywarp caroled. //That was _fun._ //

//Don’t overdo it, subordinate.// Sunfire watched dispassionately as his trinesib struggled weakly to dislodge himself from the wall he was half stuck in. //Sunfire to Winglord - we have the once-Grace downed. Execution authorized?//

The comm line hissed with static, but held strong. //Take him alive if you can,// Corona ordered. //But I doubt anyone will mourn overmuch if he resists arrest and must be struck down.//

//Understood.// Sunfire banked and transformed. //Rainmakers, suppression formation above. Jump Trine, with me.// As he descended, Starscream finally managed to free himself and just hung there a moment, clinging to the wall with trembling limbs. The posture _screamed_ weakness, and his optics when he turned to look over his wing at Sunfire radiated a poisonous mixture of hatred and fear.

“Traitor,” he hissed, and Sunfire gave him a look that he only belatedly realised was the same one he gave to disappointing cadets.

“I’m not the one who murdered the Winglord,” he said flatly, hovering in place with gunblade drawn and aimed squarely at Starscream. //Fire Team, I want you paired off with the Farsight weapons division. Drive those last two hostiles down to the guards on the pavilion level for containment.//

//Yes sir,// their trineleader said, but there was a hesitant edge to her voice that Sunfire didn’t like. //Shouldn’t be too hard, they’re just - drifting. Not even firing.//

Sunfire’s stance stiffened, optics narrowing as he kept Starscream in his sights. //Then get them down _now._ Neutralise them and check for explosives, strip their subspaces, full containment protocol. Do whatever you find necessary to ensure it, Fire One.//

_What has he done? ...what is he up to?_

He only distantly heard Fire One’s response, optics fixed on Starscream and sensors alive with tension. Starscream’s gaze held his, hot and poisonous.

Then scarlet optics flickered, and Sunfire bolted forward even as Starscream let go of the wall and dropped like a stone.

 _He really has changed._ Starscream had never allowed himself to _fall_ like that in the presence of others. Sunfire had the feeling, diving after him, that his trinesib had turned into a stranger. _A stranger capable of anything._ Sunfire pinged his subordinates below with Starscream’s trajectory and shunted power from weapons to thrusters. He wanted to be close enough for a clean shot, take a wing or a thruster, and bring Starscream down before he had the chance to do any more damage.

//First hostile is contained,// Fire One reported. //It’s clean.//

Sunfire shunted her voice aside as he drew closer to Starscream, seemingly limp in the air. Was he unconscious? Had Sunfire won after all?

//Second hostile- oh slag. I need a teleporter!//

Sunfire jerked. //Jump One!// he snapped, though he was sure the mech was already moving - one jump to get to the hostile, another to ‘port him out of range of anything important, and a third to get himself out of range before detonation. Sunfire tightened his focus as Starscream disappeared from view for just a moment, falling past a bridge. Sunfire swept underneath it, power flooding back to his weapons as he prepared to fire as soon as Starscream hit his sights again-

He was gone.

Fury flooded Sunfire's lines, acid tinged with the icy shock of disbelief. //All free trines, converge on me!// he roared, Aimpoint and Scatterblast dropping fast behind him and a scramble of wings wheeling after them. //Fan out above and below! Eirie Squadron on alert!//

The sound of thrusters igniting was a distant explosion ahead, and Sunfire’s targeting systems locked. //Jump Team, all units converge on-//

Starscream’s Sigma gift had been his speed. His thrusters burned, threw him forwards faster than Sunfire could process, and before Jump Team could lock his position and block him in, Starscream was gone.

***

Nightlight’s hands trembled around the dataslate so badly he could barely read the words Orion had sent him. _Will you call me when you get this? I need your advice._

He hadn’t said what he needed advice with, but it wasn’t hard to figure out. What else could possibly have prompted the Prime to reach out to an exiled Grace of Vos? What but the new Winglord, the new era dawning over Primus’s Crown?

For a moment he was almost _angry._ How dare Orion ask this of him? Didn’t he know how terrified Nightlight was? They had been in hiding for days, Nightlight barely able to recharge as the priests passed on what information they could, as his home city became a warzone...

_Of course he knows. Don’t you think he’s terrified too?_

Nightlight sighed, atmosphere hissing through nearly-closed vents, and thanked whatever gods, spirits or psychopomps within hearing distance that Dash was off with his math tutor. Then he forced himself to his pedes and headed out, his sights set on the Temple suite’s comm booth.

Orion had included a comm code with his message - one that apparently connected to his own private comm set, and Nightlight was very glad that the Temple booths were set up to handle this sort of thing both discreetly and without having to worry about anyone hacking the signal. Orion snapped into view on the screen, and Nightlight barely had a moment to give him a wan smile before the younger mech started talking.

//Oh thank Primus. I’m sorry, Nightlight, I didn’t know who else to call.//

“It’s all right,” Nightlight reassured him, though given the situation they both knew neither of them were entirely _all right._ “I can guess what this is about.” 

//You can?// Orion looked briefly taken aback, then shook his head ruefully. //I’m sorry. ...again. I’ve been rather frazzled over the last - well. For a good few cycles now. I’m probably being very obvious.//

“That’s hardly surprising. Although I’m afraid I don’t know how much use I could be to you - Corona was a distant sort of presence when we were young, and ei seemed to have made up eir mind whether or not to interact with us by the time we were old enough to be considered as heirs-presumptive. I only really spoke with eir a few times for - well, what I think were supposed to be rather veiled instructional talks.”

Orion - didn’t speak for a moment, looking rather puzzled and with his full lips pursing on an unspoken question. //...perhaps I wasn’t as obvious as all that after all,// he said after a moment. //Corona has invited myself and a retinue to Vos, as an introduction to the new Winglord, we think. I was hoping you would be able to talk me through what manners are appropriate for the eirie, if that wasn’t too much. I know it’s a bad time.//

All at once Night was very glad he was sitting down. “Well, I can try,” he said faintly, wings drooping and holding on to the console for support.

//Thank you.// A little tension visibly drained from Orion, his shoulders dropping. //I really appreciate this.//

Nightlight shook his head, trying to dispel the lingering _wait - what?_ “I just - sort of expected you to want more information like - like I gave you about Starscream.”

//Corona isn’t-// Orion paused, pulling back whatever he’d been about to say. //...Corona being in power isn’t quite the volatile situation Starscream was,// he amended, and Nightlight couldn’t help a crooked smile. //At least, that is what our intelligence is telling us. We can reason with eir, I think - I just don’t want to make any social missteps that will weaken our position.//

Now Nightlight did giggle, though he tried to muffle it. Really, Orion could be _so sweet_ sometimes. “That I will gladly help with. Are you going to get a jetpack?”

//Yes, as a matter of fact. I have Wheeljack tinkering with a rig that will hook into my own systems. It looks… fun, actually.// Orion grinned, looking suddenly younger, less like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. //I’m looking forward to trying it out, though I know better than to challenge any Vosians to a race.//

Nightlight laughed. “Oh, no, don’t do that! Or rather, not unless you’re absolutely certain you’ll win. I don’t think you’ll need to win any races to impress the Highest Family, though. You’ll be perceived as having enough power - physical and political - that you don’t need to be the fastest.”

Orion’s optics crinkled as he smiled. //That is good to know. ...perhaps Dash might like to race me instead? I would like to see you both at some point while I still have the rig installed, if only so I _can_ try racing someone without causing a political incident.//

“...um.” Nightlight’s optics paled slightly, all at once remembering a whole series of sparklinghood mid-air mishaps that were bad enough with little ones, but had the potential to be disastrous for full-frames without a lifetime of learned reactions. “Orion - I don’t want to sound disparaging, but do you have someone there who knows how to fly?”

The little hesitation before Orion replied said everything. //No, but Wheeljack assures me the whole rig will be very intuitive.//

...oh _dear._ “I don’t doubt his skills, I honestly don’t, but going straight from flightless to what must be like full-power antigravs - you wouldn’t have the reflexes you need to catch yourself, and what if you hit turbulence? It happens, Vos is so high-!”

Spreading his hands, Orion was clearly doing his best to be reassuring in turn, and that prompted both a pang of guilt and carrier-worry. //I promise you, Night, I’ll be careful. I won’t be heading to Vos immediately, and I’ll make the time to learn how to use the rig.//

Night bit his lip before he could blurt something foolish out in response, knotting his fingers together in his lap out of sight. “I believe you,” he said slowly, unable to quite believe what he was considering saying next. “But I really think you’re going to need help from someone who knows how to fly before you go anywhere near Vos.”

Orion gave him a hopeful-hesitant look, like Dash hoping for a treat but not sure it was time to ask, and oh _stars_ how had he so thoroughly adopted the Bearer of the Matrix. “Of course,” he sighed, “I’ll come. How long until Wheeljack finishes the rig?”

//Another few cycles, he says - Nightlight, please don’t feel obligated to do this,// Orion protested. //I don’t want to pull you away from your family at such a difficult time.//

Nightlight clasped his hands in his lap. “It’s - I’m frightened, but I’d be as safe at your side as I am at the Temple. Besides, you might pick up some - some body language from me or something. Something I wouldn’t think to tell you, but that might help.”

//I’m sure there is no end to what I can learn from you,// Orion assured him. //And I promise, I will do everything I can to ensure your safety. What would help? Do you want me to come escort you? Or send a shuttle?//

“I-” Nightlight was getting better at not getting flustered so easily, he thought, but the image of the Prime journeying all the way to Praxus just for him was - “-I’ll think about it,” he said, more firmly than he thought he was capable of. “I still need to talk with my family. I’ll call you again?”

//All right.//

Nightlight sat back in the booth when he’d said goodby to Orion, spark pulsing fast and his processor oddly calm. He had effectively just volunteered his services as cultural liaison to the Iacon Prime, so that said Prime could go to Vos to welcome in the new Winglord. He had to make sure to check in with his family, because his Vosian groundframe sparkling on the verge of becoming a youngling would be desperate to go back and catch up with the Kaonite Lord Protector.

“Sometimes,” he said faintly to the empty air, “I wonder how in the world I came to be here.”

He wouldn’t change it for anything.

*

Dash ran-ran- _leaped_ into the air, antigravs pulsing strongly as he flew down the hallway. Temple mechs, foolishly thinking they were used to excitable Vosian younglings by now, jumped out of the way like space debris in the wake of a passing comet. Dash shouted an apology over his shoulder and turned, agile as a dancer, to fling himself into the records room - and straight into one of its occupants. But that unfortunate mech had been the one Dash was racing to see anyway, so he only laughed as the poor mech went theatrically aft-over-teakettle to the floor with Dash in his arms.

“Jazz!” Dash burst out. “Jazz Jazz Jazz!”

Jazz, none the worse for wear and laughing, sat up with him. “What’s the big rush, eight-bit?”

Dash’s answer came out in a rush. “Carrier’s gonna go visit Orion and teach him to fly and he says I can come and we’re gonna see Megatron and Wheeljack too!”

As Jazz laughed and ruffled Dash’s helm, Prowl came over to kneel by them both. The bright, glittering trails of _destiny_ were gathering closer around this little one’s spark, he could see it, and they drew tighter every time Iacon touched Dash’s life. Yet he had time still to be a youngling.

_I swear it to thee, bright spark._

“That’s great!” Jazz was saying, and Prowl smiled in turn when Dash twisted around to beam at him. “You’re gonna have a great time - just take some good vids for me, huh? Ain’t every cycle of the vorn you get to watch a Prime fall down go boom!”

“Ja-azz, he won’t! Carrier’s gonna teach him and Orion’s really smart, he’ll get it like _that._ ”

Jazz grinned and scruffled his helm again, which prompted a brief flurry of poking and tickles until Prowl gently intervened. “Far be it from me to interrupt,” he said dryly, “But I for one would petition for an embrace before thou leavest us, bright spark.”

It took Dash only a moment to puzzle through that, then he lit up and threw his entire frame into an enthusiastic hug.

*

_”Ah, you’ve returned. ... Where are the prototypes?”_

_“They’re gone, you halfwitted cyclops! Your precious drones didn’t last a nanoclick in combat even with my programming - I would have been better off raising an army myself! **From sparklings!”**_

_“Do you mean you lost every single- ...you tested them in active combat? Did you at least take notes on their performance? We may be able to improve their design with real-time feedback.”_

_“Oh, for-! I never should have had to put up with this charade. Vos will be mine, the whole PLANET will be mine, I’ll show every single one of those treacherous upstarts what it means to cross me-”_

_“Am I to infer that this entire line of experimentation was nothing but a means to an end? You told me Cassegrain-”_

_“I know what I **told** you, Shockwave. You have only yourself to blame for believing it.”_

_“...you **lied** to me. Where is Cassegrain? **Securi-!”** _

_**Crash.**_

_..._

_“I don’t have time to destroy your pitiful security measures, thank you so much. It seems I’ll have to work elsewhere from now on...flying solo, just as I should have done from the start. Well. Tarn has outlived its usefulness - perhaps it’s time I found out just where Kaon’s miraculous new energy supply comes from. And I’ll take my **intellectual property** with me. Goodbye, Shockwave. It hasn’t been fun.”_

*

Rather than have to put up with diplomatic intermediaries, Nightlight and his party were ferried directly from the Praxian Temple to the Prime’s compound, flown there in Orion’s own personal shuttle by an affable Minibot pilot. “Bumblebee’s the name,” he greeted them cheerily. “If you need anything at all, just let me know. Official word of Prime is you’re honored guests for however long you’d like to stay - unofficial word is Orion’s practically hopping up and down for you to get there.”

He grinned, and Nightlight laughed - he liked this Iaconian already. Approved of his friendly manner too - helpful but not servile, treating his employer with affection and his guests with respect. It spoke well of Iacon’s head of state that those who worked for him weren’t frightened or beaten-down. “Thank you, Bumblebee,” he said. “I’m eager to see him too.”

“Carrier’s gonna teach him to fly!” Dash blurted out. “An’ I’m gonna help!”

“Well, then he can’t help but become an expert flier,” Bumblebee exclaimed. “Why don’t you choose a seat - Dash, wasn’t it? - and we’ll get underway.”

Dash obeyed eagerly enough and scrambled into a seat with a viewport beside it, but once the shuttle was in the air, the sparkling turned uncharacteristically quiet and thoughtful. “Is something wrong?” Nightlight asked him gently. “Are you worried?”

Dash shook his head. “Not worried. Nothing’s wrong. Just…” He lifted his shoulders in a shrug, wriggling a little as though there were an itch under his plating. “I dunno.”

“All right. I’ll let you be, then.”

*

The ride to Iacon didn’t take long. Unlike their first visit, Nightlight had no worries as to their reception - he knew what to expect of Iacon now, and what to expect of its Prime. And mercifully Iaconians didn’t seem to hold the same views on nonsparked shuttles as Vos, and aside from the additional shielding hidden away in its structure and regular check-ins with the Prime’s security forces, there was no sign on the outside that this was anything other than a regular shuttle. There was nothing to suggest to...interested outside parties...that there was anything unusual going on, no personalised heraldry or painting the shuttle in Orion’s colours, and that went some way to ease Night’s mind - well, about the journey, at least.

Nightlight repeated it all to himself, then sighed and leaned back into the padding of a chair big enough for a mech Megatron’s size. It was something of a novelty to have his pedes dangling off the floor.

“Least this thing isn’t plastered with Orion’s colours,” ‘Dance said cheerily, and Nightlight blinked at the unintentional echoing of his own thoughts. “You want something to nibble on? There’s a whole dispensary back here.”

“Oh...no, thank you.” Nightlight shifted, smiling faintly up at his wingmate as ‘Dance hopped up to lean over the back of the chair. “It’s not that I’m nervous about Iacon, exactly...”

“Just the not knowing where Aftscream is, huh?”

Nightlight spluttered, startled into laughter. “Don’t let Dash hear you say that!” he managed when the fit had passed, and ‘Dance grinned wickedly down at him.

“Oh, I dunno - I reckon it’d make Orion laugh, and it sounds like he needs all the help he can get right now.”

“Well, I suppose that’s true.” Nightlight settled back into the chair, staring thoughtfully at the upturned tips of his pedes. “I just - wonder where he is. If he’s hiding somewhere, waiting.”

‘Dance’s antigravs kicked on, boosting him up and over the back of the chair to land in Nightlight’s lap; Night had enough warning from the familiar sound of ‘Dance’s systems that he only shrieked a little, and caught ‘Dance around the middle reprovingly before they could tip out of the chair.

“Look,” ‘Dance said before Nightlight could do more than open his mouth. “I get it. I swear, I do. That aft got me barred from the dance spires, and you know I - I didn’t have anywhere else to go when I was a lilbit too. He’s an aft and a spoiled brat and he’s dangerous, but Night, he’s not in power anymore. If he turns up, we jump on him, whack him over the head and turn him over to Vos, and whatever happens next is all on him. I mean, you remember talking about outside-of-the-eirie consequences, right?”

Night did. It had been a revelation, finding out just how Vos worked outside of the eirie - like waking up to a whole new world. Maybe now Starscream was thinking the same thing.

The shuttle descended over Iacon, its engine pulsing with perfectly-controlled power. Bumblebee handled it like he was a flightframe himself, setting them down with barely a bump in the precise center of the landing platform. “Now arriving at our final destination for this evening, our final destination,” Bumblebee intoned, imitating a transport conductor in a bad holo. “Hotel Prime, proudly boasting the finest of all Primes! Please ensure you collect all your belongings, as anything left behind I’m selling on the datanet.”

Dash, fortunately, had perked up enough by now to laugh at that, and Nightlight bestowed a smile on them both. “It was a pleasure to fly with you, Bumblebee.” 

“Coming from Optimus’s flight instructor, that’s high praise,” Bumblebee replied with a grin. “It was a pleasure to have you and your family as passengers.”

“‘Bye Bee,” Dash called over his shoulder as he scrambled out of the shuttle, eager to see his friends again and only a little impatient as Safeguard made sure to beat Dash getting off the transport.

“‘Bye, Dash!” Bumblebee wiggled with pleasure, making Nightlight laugh again. “Aww, he called me Bee.”

“If you don’t mind it, he’ll probably keep using it,” Nightlight said with a smile. “Thank you, Bumblebee. I’m sure we’ll see you again.” He waved as he moved towards the shuttle ramp, Safeguard already outside and keeping watch over Dash - there was a cry of joy from his little one, and Nightlight emerged in time to see Dash throw himself into the air and into Orion’s arms.

“Awww,” Thundersong murmured, falling into step behind Nightlight as Skydance trotted down the ramp after them; Night couldn’t have agreed more. Orion laughed and cradled Dash close, nuzzling his cheek in the Vosian fashion, and Nightlight couldn’t help smiling as they approached.

“Hello, Orion-” he started, then squeaked in surprise as Orion went down onto one knee, Dash still held close, and swept Night into a hug too.

“I am so glad you’re here,” the bigger mech mumbled, muffled against Nightlight’s plating; after a moment’s wordless shock, Night reached around to stroke Orion’s helm in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. “Everything we have relating to Vos is so out of date it’s a wonder we haven’t assumed the whole city-state just - just drifted away sometime in the last Golden Age! How we haven’t managed to stick our collective pedes in our mouths even more than we have is a small miracle. I don’t even know where to start.”

Nightlight cycled his intakes and met Dash’s optics. His little one - not quite a sparkling any longer, but still looking at him with such perfect faith - gave him a smile, and Night petted Orion’s helm again with a steadier hand. “Don’t worry,” he said firmly, and Dash beamed at him. “Everything’s going to be fine.”

*

Culture lessons - to say nothing of flying lessons - would have to wait a bit. Orion insisted on showing them to their quarters - rather old-fashioned to Nightlight’s sensibilities, but he supposed Orion had too much to do to redecorate - and when they emerged, Megatron was approaching from the hallway leading to the Prime and Lord Protector’s habsuites, Drift padding along behind him.

“Ah, the houseguests we were promised,” he commented with a wry twist of a smile. “Hello again - ah. Hello to you too, Dash,” he said to the youngling who’d wrapped himself around Megatron’s waist.

“Dash, ask first,” Nightlight said, but Megatron was already bending to return Dash’s hug. “Oh - well, hello, anyway, Lord Protector. We all greatly appreciated your taking the time to write to us; I know there are many demands placed upon your time.”

“I use the letter-writing to put my thoughts in order,” Megatron answered, finally convincing Dash to let go via the compromise of a hand to hold. “So it is a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

Dash beamed, swinging Megatron’s hand. Nightlight couldn’t help staring, fascinated that the huge, heavy-armored mech allowed it. “I’m practicing my writing when I write to you and ‘Rion. So it’s mutually beneficial for me too!”

Megatron smiled. “I’m glad to hear it. I like receiving your letters, Dash.”

“It’s Hot Rod.”

Conversations stilled; every optic turned to the youngling who stood stock-still, covering his mouth, his other hand still clinging to Megatron’s as though he were still a sparkling. But of course he wasn’t - not anymore - was he? Nightlight moved forward to kneel in front of him, spark in his throat as he took his baby’s hand, tugging it gently away from his face. “Is that your name, sweetest?” he whispered, and Hot Rod nodded shakily.

“I know my name,” he whispered, then - “I know my name! My name is Hot Rod!”

Nightlight’s hands wrapped gently around Dash’s- around _Hot Rod’s_ smaller one, a smile lighting up his face as bright as the sun as his optics shimmered with tears. “You’re growing up,” he said softly, then laughed as Hot Rod leaped into his arms and he hugged his youngling tight.

*

_The moons had been mined dry long ages ago, but they had still proved useful. The colonies there had been abandoned long before, when the energon crisis was beginning to take hold - the scientists and researchers replaced by miners, working what energon deposits they could find before the overseers gave it up as a bad job and shipped them back to Cybertron. The information stored there might be outdated, the bulk of the truly useful equipment long since packed up and taken away, but that only gave him more space to work._

_Now Starscream cast one scathing glance back over his shoulder - the lights of Cybertron glimmered far below, Iacon a dim glow disappearing over the horizon as the orbiting moon moved on, and he turned away with a sneer as Vos shone into view far below. They were beneath him; they all were._

_One city? Faugh. He would make his own way, and no matter how long it took, he would show them all just what they had done by denying him._

_Starscream lit his thrusters, and vanished into the promise of open space._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear everything, this is the end of Crown! I am - I have to say it - kind of amazed. We've been posting chapters for literally months! After spending almost a year writing it! And now the story's over, and it feels kind of strange.
> 
> On the other hand, we've had some wonderful comments and lovely questions from people, and *trumpets* we're going to be posting Jazz and Prowl's perspective on things very shortly! Next week we'll be posting a family tree for the Highest Family, and something else shiny the week after that, and then we'll be launching into the next fic. :) And then, after Jazz and Prowl's somewhat shorter story, we'll be getting something started for the lumbering monster that Megatron and Orion's fic is turning into, so watch this space...


End file.
